


Of babies, love and destiny.

by ylc



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Feels, Insecurity, M/M, Pining, domestic (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: “All you need is ask, darling,” Jaskier says, teasing but not. “Ask me to stay and I will.”Geralt knows that road only leads to madness. Bad enough that he allows the bard to trail after him so often, bad enough that he already feels so much for this man. But-- “Would you stay and help me raise my Child of Surprise, Jaskier?” he asks, aiming to keep his tone light and unassuming. Like he’s still joking, like this means very little to him.“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely,” Jaskier replies with a teasing grin and Geralt huffs, amused despite himself.OrGeralt goes back much earlier to pick up his Child of Surprise and ends up with much more than what he bargained for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 106
Kudos: 497
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Big Bang. A million thanks to the organizers, to my lovely beta goshdraws and my amazingly talented artist maximproving (you can find their art on tumblr [here](https://maximproving.tumblr.com/post/621922210057224192/of-babies-love-and-destiny-my-first-pic-for))  
> or on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/MaxImproving/status/1276229408144207877?s=20))  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

“You know, we’re actually very close to Cintra. If we were to stop at the court, it wouldn’t be a great detour.”

“You’re free to go,” Geralt replies distractedly, much more interested on skinning the pair of rabbits he caught for dinner. He’s too used to Jaskier’s little monologues before leaving: they always start with the bard _suggesting_ they take a detour somewhere and end with Jaskier announcing he’s going to go, either with or without Geralt.

Jaskier drops himself in front of the Witcher, pouting lightly. Geralt keeps his eyes trained on the rabbit, unwilling to allow himself to get distracted by Jaskier’s very kissable pout. 

“I have no business in the Cintran court,” Geralt informs him very seriously, sensing the other man is not about to drop the subject anytime soon.

“On the contrary, my dear Witcher,” Jaskier says. “In fact, you’re the one with business in Cintra, not me. Or have you forgotten your Child of Surprise?”

Geralt hasn’t, not really. He just does his best to pretend he has. “I’m not going,” he insists.

Jaskier sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Listen Geralt, I know you don’t want a child but you should also know there’s no way to outrun destiny. You’ll end up having to go to pick up the child one way or another and in this particular case, sooner is better than later. It’ll be hard enough for both the poor darling and their parents to part now, to wait any longer--”

“I won’t go pick them up,” Geralt argues stubbornly, glaring. “There’ll be no need for them to part ways because I won’t be taking them away.”

Jaskier sighs again. “You know as well as I do that you will, eventually. It’s your _destiny;_ you’ll find each other sooner or later and do you really want to do it when-- I don’t know, Cintra’s fallen and the poor child is on the run?”

Geralt grunts. With Queen Calanthe on the throne, he does not imagine anyone would be foolish enough to try to invade Cintra and even if someone was, he very much doubts there’s anyone who can take over the kingdom. Then again--

“Look at this,” Geralt says, signaling at their small camp. “No child deserves this life. It’s harsh and unpleasant: no one would willingly submit themselves to a life on the road with a Witcher of all people.”

“I have,” Jaskier points out softly, looking around the camp too. Geralt’s heart does something funny, but before he can examine the feeling, Jaskier continues. “But that’s not the point. I mean, sure, they might be better off at the Castle, but that’s not their destiny, Geralt. You, this life-- that is.” He takes the other rabbit and proceeds to entertain himself with skinning it, doing a poor job of it but trying to help (and distract himself, no doubt). “You saw their mother’s power at the banquet. There’s no reason to believe they won’t inherit it and who better than you to train them?”

Geralt can think of several people, actually, but he doesn’t say it. “What do I know of looking after a babe?” he asks, feeling like he’s already lost this battle. “They’ll be-- what, a year old?”

“More or less,” Jaskier agrees. “And you might know nothing about looking after babies, but that’s what you have me for.” He grins, that easy charming grin of his that usually has people falling all over themselves to earn his favour.

Geralt wishes the damn grin didn’t affect him too. “You?” he says, amusement and disbelief clear in his tone.

“I’m a man of many talents, my dear Witcher,” Jaskier replies playfully. “You don’t know half the things I’m capable of.”

Geralt snorts. “Even if that’s true,” he says, and that’s a big _if._ “What if you leave? You’ve never been one to stick around for long.” And gods, how that hurts! But Geralt is not about to admit that, because that’d be foolish.

Jaskier grins wolfishly. “Ah, Geralt. Had I known you miss me so, I would never leave you.”

Geralt’s stupid heart gives a little flutter. “Hardly,” he argues and he’s immensely thankful for the low light of the dusk that helps him hide his embarrassed expression and the slight blush covering his cheeks.

Jaskier smiles, no doubt sensing Geralt’s embarrassment all the same. “All you need is ask, darling,” he says, teasing but not. “Ask me to stay and I will.”

Geralt knows that road only leads to madness. It’s bad enough that he allows the bard to trail after him so often, bad enough that he already _feels_ so much for this man. But-- “Would you stay and help me raise my Child of Surprise, Jaskier?” he asks, aiming to keep his tone light and unassuming. Like he’s still joking, like this means very little to him.

“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely,” Jaskier replies with a teasing grin and Geralt huffs, amused despite himself. 

This is a terrible idea on so many levels, he knows. 

He doesn’t know how terrible just yet.

* * *

Princess Pavetta cries quietly while handing them her daughter, her eyes completely red rimmed. Her husband keeps an arm around her, supporting her, murmuring soothing nonsense to her ear. Geralt wonders if it’s too late to back out now, but one quick look at Jaskier steels his resolve.

It’s better like this, he knows. Not ideal but… better, yes.

“We’ll look after her,” Jaskier is promising the princess. “She’ll be fine and well cared for, I promise.”

The princess nods, still sobbing. “I know. It’s… it’s her destiny, after all,” she says softly, wiping away her tears although it’s a bit of an useless exercise, since new ones start falling right away. “I know it’s better like this.”

Geralt frowns, wondering if she actually thinks that. The princess believes in destiny; having been bound by destiny herself Geralt supposes she has little choice. She does believe her daughter belongs on the Path, with Geralt, but as any mother who loves their child, she’s reluctant to part with her.

Behind Pavetta, Queen Calanthe glares. Geralt has the feeling the woman is a few minutes away from calling the Law of Surprise off again. If her daughter as much as hinted at not wanting her baby to leave with them, the Queen would make sure they never left Cintra at all, he’s sure. But despite the princess’ tears, she seems resigned above all.

“She’ll be safe, your Highness,” Jaskier continues reassuring the princess, who has yet to rescind her hold on the small bundle that’s her daughter. “No harm will befall upon her as long as either of us draws breath.”

It’s a difficult promise to uphold, Geralt thinks, but it rings true. He might not have wanted this Child of Surprise but now that he has her-- he’ll keep her safe, no matter what.

“Pavetta,” the Queen calls, making Geralt look in her direction one more. The princess straightens up, body tense, but doesn’t turn to face her mother. “You don’t have to,” she tells her, tone oddly gentle, almost _pleading_ and Geralt wonders if the Queen aches as badly as her child does.

Her mother’s words seem to have the opposite effect from the intended one though, steeling the princess’s resolve. “No, I do,” she says, finally passing the small bundle onto Jaskier, expression resolute. “I won’t keep her from her destiny.”

She’s staring straight at Geralt now, her gaze pained but resolved. She’s strong, Geralt thinks, stronger than her mother in some ways; the kind of strength most people don’t understand. He nods, hoping she understands and she bites her lip before curling against her husband’s side, crying silently once more.

Queen Calanthe clenches her jaw, but doesn’t say anything else. Next to her, her own husband seems to be waiting for any instruction. The man might have once fought next to Geralt to protect Duny and his right to the Princess’ hand, but Geralt has very little doubt he’d fight him now if Calanthe asked him to.

He becomes aware of Jaskier looking at him, waiting for direction and Geralt hums, placing a hand on the small of his back to guide him out. The baby makes a soft noise, no doubt confused by the developments, but at least she’s not crying just yet. Jaskier turns his attention to the babe, making soft cooing sounds at her.

This is for the best, Geralt knows. He might deny believing in destiny, but he does know it exists. Should he try to outrun it, it’ll bring him (all of them) nothing but misery.

But it doesn’t feel quite right.

* * *

Duny catches up with them at the castle’s doors and Geralt sighs, thinking he should have known better than to believe they’d be allowed to leave without a fight. He turns to face the lord tiredly, his hand reaching for his sword already and the knight raises his hands in surrender.

“I mean you no harm, Witcher,” he says, surprising Geralt when he hands him a medium sized bag. “It’s not enough,” he adds as Geralt opens it, frowning when he realizes it’s filled with gold. “I know life on the road is hard and a baby is expensive, but please-- take this. If nothing else, it’ll get you started.”

Geralt frowns, indecisive. On one hand, the gold would help. On the other, it feels wrong to take it. “I can’t--”

“Please,” Duny insists, raising a hand to silence him. “It’s all I can do for now. I’ll try sending gold every so often, but I don’t--”

“There’s no need--” Geralt tries again and Jaskier places a hand on his arm, stopping him from trying to give the bag back. Duny smiles at the bard, a watery smile that looks more than a little pained.

“We’re very thankful, my lord,” Jaskier replies. “We’ll look after your daughter to the best of our ability. She won’t grow up surrounded by luxury, but she’ll want for nothing,” he assures him and Duny nods, biting his lip. He’s worried, that’s clear as day, but he believes in destiny too: after all, it handed him a wife who he adores.

“I know,” he says softly. “My only true concern was that she might lack affection-- all that talk of Witchers not having feelings, you know-- but now I see that’s not a concern.” He smiles at Jaskier, who promptly blushes and Geralt frowns a little, confused by the lord’s words. He’s not entirely sure what he’s implying, but promptly figures it doesn’t matter.

He turns, deciding he’s done with this conversation. There’s nothing else he can tell the poor father that will make the loss of his daughter any easier and so he doesn’t attempt to. He leaves Jaskier to say the proper farewells and continues heading for Roach, who’s faithfully waiting outside the castle’s door. He puts the gold bag away, taking care to hide it just in case and then waits for his companion, who joins him shortly after.

“Well, that went better than expected,” Jaskier says with fake cheer. He might have pressed for Geralt to go pick his Child of Surprise, but there’s no denying how _difficult_ the whole exchange was.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, looking at him and at the small bundle in his arms. “What now?”

“Well,” Jaskier says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, looking down at the baby. “Maybe a quick stop to get some supplies. A very quick stop, mind. I fear Queen Calanthe might just be biding her time before sending some assassins after us.”

Geralt hums. “That seems probable,” he agrees, although he thinks Jaskier wasn’t being serious. He’s not so optimistic though and he’s not looking forward to fighting the Queen’s assassins and he wonders how long it’ll take before the woman figures she won’t be getting her way this time around.

Damn nobles. 

If Jaskier shares his concerns, he doesn’t show it, continuing placidly strolling towards the town. He sings quietly, not one of his songs for once, but a soft lullaby that makes the baby giggle delightedly.

Geralt turns to Roach. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Roach neighs as if in agreement and then nudges him in the direction the bard has just left.

Typical, really.

* * *

Princess Pavetta had provided them with a small bag with some clothes for her daughter and other necessary items and while the clothes might be too fancy for the road, one look at Jaskier’s own clothes convince Geralt there’s no need to spend money on new ones. They do get her a cape; it might be midsummer, but the nights can get cold and if it rains it’ll help to keep her warm.

Jaskier fashions some type of sling out of some fabric and carries the baby that way. Geralt frowns, wondering if that’s actually a good idea, but decides against commenting. The baby seems happy enough and the tying seems secure, so-- it’ll be fine, probably.

He hesitates about spending some of Duny’s gold on a horse, but he reasons with himself that if Jaskier is going to be the one carrying the child around, it’d be cruel to make him walk as much as he normally does. There’s no way Roach can carry the three of them, not without risk of one falling and if they ever need to leave a place in a rush--

It’s well past midday by the time they’re finished and staying at the local inn is tempting, but Geralt really _really_ wants to get as far away from Cintra as soon as possible. Jaskier seems to share his idea, since he doesn’t really protest, only looking slightly nervously at the baby who’s now sleeping.

Geralt helps him onto his new horse (who Jaskier named _Buttercup_ of all things) and they leave the city, the Witcher looking over his shoulder every few minutes.

“Do you really think she’ll send someone after us?” Jaskier asks after a while, noticing all the double checking Geralt is doing and looking only mildly concerned.

Geralt shrugs. “There’s a chance,” he replies although he also hopes Princess Pavetta will manage to discourage her mother from taking any dramatic measures. “Better to be prepared.”

Jaskier nods thoughtfully, gazing at the sleeping baby in his arms. “Are you still calling her “the baby” inside your head?” he asks a bit teasingly and laughs merrily when Geralt makes a face. “Her name is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, in case you missed the introductions.” Geralt scrunches his nose: there’s no way he’s calling her all that. “Ciri will do, I think,” Jaskier continues rambling to himself. “You know how nobles can be about names.”

“You’d know about that, _Julian,_ ” he teases, earning himself an indignant huff from his companion.

“Excuse me, but I happen to have a fairly easy name. Besides, it’s the family tradition--”

Geralt tunes out the other man’s chatter, all too used to it by now. He watches his companion from the corner of his eye, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches Jaskier fuss over the ba-- no, Ciri.

The road extending in front of them won’t be easy, Geralt knows.

But it might not be as bad as he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, a new chapter!  
> Again, a million thanks to my lovely beta [goshdraws](https://goshdraws.tumblr.com/))  
> and my amazingly talented artist maximproving (you can find their art on tumblr [here](https://maximproving.tumblr.com/post/622284761979895808/of-babies-love-and-destiny-chapter-2-update-omg))  
> or on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/MaxImproving/status/1277678118724042755?s=20))  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

Geralt had been led to believe that babies cry a lot.

Maybe it’s because the princess is a little over a year now or maybe she’s just a very quiet baby, but she doesn’t cry as much. She’ll make soft, displeased sounds when dirty or hungry and Jaskier seems terribly attuned to her needs, often anticipating them before Ciri as much as hints at any discomfort. It’s-- well,  _ nice,  _ Geralt supposes, since he wasn’t especially looking forward to all the crying and he had been more than a little worried about all the unwanted attention said crying might attract.

Monsters aren’t generally picky about what they eat, but they do seem to have a soft spot for babies.

If Ciri misses her mother or her home, she certainly doesn’t show it. Maybe she’s too young to understand what has happened, although she must notice the differences, mustn’t she? Geralt does remember what losing his mother had been like for him, although he had been older and his mother had left him  _ on purpose  _ so he guesses there’s a difference.

Ciri however barely fusses, content with being carried around by Jaskier, green eyes peering over the sling’s edge as they continue their path. The movement of the horse seems to lull her to sleep or maybe she’s still at that stage where she sleeps more than anything else. 

Geralt was not lying when he said he knew nothing of babies. He really doesn’t.

But Jaskier does, against all odds. He soothes the baby with practiced ease, as if he’s been doing this for years. Geralt is curious, despite himself; where did Jaskier learn to look after a child and why? He realizes he’s never asked about the other man’s family, all his knowledge comes from the tidbits of information Jaskier himself shares and now that he thinks about it, his family is a carefully avoided subject.

Not that Geralt has a leg to stand on in that particular regard, but it’s odd, isn’t it?

Still, he figures now is not the time to start asking such questions. It might be a delicate subject and he knows his conversation skills aren’t the best, so he doesn’t have much hope of not fucking up horribly. So better not to ask and wait: he’s learned with Jaskier that sometimes silence is enough to encourage the other man to share far more than what’s probably necessary.

When night falls, they’re still somewhat away from the next town, so they decide to make camp. Roach is more or less used to traveling in the dark, but the last thing they need is for Jaskier’s new horse to break a leg or get scared and throw off his precious cargo. It’s not ideal, Geralt doesn’t think, having been hoping to spend their first night with the young princess  _ indoors  _ but needs must.

Besides, they probably ought to be saving that gold Duny gave them. As much as the princess would probably benefit from an actual bed to sleep on, inns are a commodity they can’t always afford.

Oh, crap. This was really a terrible idea, wasn’t it?

“There you go,” Jaskier says, placing Ciri on the clearing, the baby looking around curiously. “Oh, my back is killing me!” he continues, stretching out, wincing when he pulls at a muscle. Geralt frowns, considering. He ought to have offered to carry the princess, now that he thinks about it: Jaskier is unused to carrying any extra weight and certainly not for as long as he has today.

“You should have told me,” Geralt says, hating how  _ hurt  _ he sounds. He has no reason to sound hurt, he knows, Jaskier is the one who got hurt thanks to Geralt’s lack of forethought, but--

“Maybe tomorrow,” Jaskier tells him with a small smile. “Once you’ve wrapped your head around the whole paternity business.”

Geralt scowls, thinking he’ll need more than one day for that (maybe a couple of lifetimes) but of course he says nothing. Instead he busies himself with setting up camp, unrolling their sleeping cots and lying them on the floor, before he goes searching for some wood to build a fire with.

He goes through their traveling supplies, wondering what exactly you feed a one-year-old. Stew, maybe? But that takes a little more effort and time. If it was just him and Jaskier they could simply roast whatever he manages to catch, but to make stew they’ll need--

“Roasted bunny is probably fine,” Jaskier says, startling him out of his thoughts. The bard offers him a knowing smile when he turns to face him. “Come on Geralt, don’t be so surprised. After all this time together, don’t you think I can read you like an open book?” he smirks and Geralt scowls, the idea making his silly heart flutter. Such nonsense, really. “And besides, given the circumstances… it’s a little obvious, don’t you think?”

Probably, now that Geralt thinks about it. “Hmm,” he says, earning himself a fond smile from his companion that he hurries to look away from. He can see Ciri crawling around the clearing, busying herself with examining every leaf she comes across.

Which is all good and fine before she decides to try one out, shoving it into her mouth unceremoniously. Jaskier lets out a little scream and is diving towards her to stop her from actually eating it, chiding her softly and telling her something about not eating stuff from the floor.

Geralt can’t help the fond smile that comes unbidden to his lips then and he promptly forces himself to focus. There are other pressing concerns right now and he can not get distracted by how adorable his travel companions are.

He has some dinner to catch.

* * *

Geralt wakes up to Ciri trying to crawl over him. The girl makes a delighted sound when she notices Geralt is up, babbling happily as she pats his face. Geralt blinks, unsure of what to do and he finally sits up, looking around the makeshift camp.

By his estimations, it must be a little past midnight, so too early for the young princess to be up. He’s heard however that children have erratic sleep patterns in their early years, so he assumes that must be it. Ciri continues babbling, now sitting too and attempting to stand up, clutching Geralt’s arm with all her might for support. She doesn’t quite succeed, landing with a soft thud, but while she seems unhappy about this, she doesn’t cry.

Geralt just continues to watch her.

As far as he can tell, she hasn’t dirtied herself, so that’s a relief. He still hasn’t quite got the hang of changing a diaper, although to be fair, he’s only watched Jaskier do it, not getting involved. In fact so far he’s let Jaskier handle it all, which he supposes will need to change eventually.

The princess is his responsibility after all.

Ciri draws his attention back by pulling at his shirt, looking up at him innocently. Once she sees he’s looking at her she raises her arms, her hands making grabbing motions.

Geralt hums, picking her up and standing up a second later. Ciri lets out a squeal, delighted and Geralt assumes he must have guessed right. He rocks her a little, rubbing her back as he watched Jaskier do earlier. Ciri continues making happy sounds, so he figures he’s not doing that poorly.

Geralt might not need much sleep, but children do or so he thinks. He needs to get her back to sleep, even if he’s a little lost at how to. Riding Buttercup earlier had seemed to work well, but even if Roach can walk in the dark on uneven terrain, Geralt isn’t sure it’s very wise to leave Jaskier on his own.

He starts pacing around the camp, still rubbing Ciri’s back in what he hopes are soothing motions. He’s not terribly good at this comfort-thing, although thanks to Jaskier he’s somewhat familiar with it. He starts humming before he knows it, since it’s something Jaskier often does when washing Geralt’s hair, which the Witcher finds very soothing and often has his own eyelids drooping.

After a while, it seems to do the trick, Ciri’s breaths evening out as her eyes close. Slowly, so he won’t wake her up again, Geralt kneels down, placing Ciri back on her sleeping cot, making sure she’s as comfortable as possible. He wraps her blanket around her once more and places her coat on top of it, making sure she’s as warm as possible.

Ciri lets out a happy sigh and Geralt finds himself smiling without meaning to. Distracted as he is by the sight, he fails to notice he has an audience right away. “You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, smiling sleepily. Geralt wonders how long he’s been awake, but decides against actually asking.

“Hardly,” he murmurs, laying down on the ground, watching Jaskier over Ciri’s sleeping form. “You, on the other hand…”

Jaskier chuckles, wrapping his own blanket around him a bit tighter. “I told you, I’m a man of many talents,” he says with a wink, his gaze softening when he looks at the princess. “But you’re doing well, Geralt, truly. Paternity suits you.”

Geralt hums. “Bit early to be sure,” he murmurs, uncomfortable for some reason. He never wanted to be a father, he doesn’t think and now that he sort of is, he’s not sure how he feels about it. He didn’t plan for it, certainly, and he’s still unsure of whether or not this whole baby-business is a good thing or not.

Jaskier grabs his hand, startling him. “Trust me,” the bard says softly, squeezing gently. “It does.”

Geralt hums once more, since he doesn’t know what to say to that, deciding to let the matter go for now. “Go to sleep,” he orders and Jaskier chuckles, but nods, a yawn betraying his tiredness. He must not have been awake for long, Geralt thinks, judging by the ease with which he falls back asleep.

For his part, Geralt lies on the ground, staring at the night sky, a million thoughts running through his head. Eventually though, his mind quiets enough and he falls asleep too.

Ciri sleeps through the rest of the night.

“Well done,” Jaskier praises as Geralt finishes changing Ciri. The girl is chewing on her fist, unbothered by all of Geralt’s struggles. He sits back on his haunches, staring at the girl, observing his handiwork, still unsure about it.

Jaskier says he did well, but--

“Geralt,” his companion says, interrupting his panicking thoughts. “She’s fine,” he assures him and Geralt hums. She seems fine, true, but--

Jaskier huffs, picking up the discarded nightgown and dirty diaper. “The clothes can wait till we get to an inn, but we need to wash this,” he says, making a face. “I’ll be right back.”

Geralt hums once more, sparing a brief glance in Jaskier’s direction as he disappears into the trees, in the direction of the nearby stream where they filled their water skins earlier. Geralt knows he ought to be taking care of that too, but he’s still getting the hang of things and washing dirty diapers is not something he’s quite ready to do.

This child-rearing-business is much more complicated than he ever thought.

Ciri watches him for a couple of seconds more, before deciding she’s done observing him and she rolls onto her stomach, starting her slow exploration of her surroundings, crawling around while babbling happily to herself. At some point she grabs Roach’s leg for support, once more attempting to stand up on her own, but Geralt snatches her up quickly. Roach is a good girl, generally well behaved and unlikely to kick someone who doesn’t deserve it, but Ciri holds onto things a little too tightly and Geralt worries that she’ll hurt Roach, making the mare kick her or even just stomp her hooves a little.

“We don’t grab Roach’s legs,” he tells her very sternly, feeling a little silly right away. Does she even understand what he’s saying? “She could hurt you,” he continues, because he figures he might as well. Jaskier is always talking to her, so he supposes there’s no harm in it.

Ciri just watches him in silence, as if contemplating his words. She looks at Roach then, frowning, stretching out as if intending to reach her. Geralt sighs, stepping closer, guiding Ciri’s hand so she might scratch the mare neck, careful to ensure she doesn’t grab onto her mane.

Roach subjects herself to the petting without much protest, watching Geralt funnily. Of course Geralt knows Roach isn’t actually capable of looking at him  _ funnily,  _ but it feels that way all the same: as if she’s silently judging him, although not in a bad way.

He sighs, patting Roach’s neck himself. “I’m thoroughly unprepared for all this,” he murmurs softly, resting his forehead against Roach’s neck. “Lucky that we keep Jaskier around, huh?”

Roach actually neighs at that and Geralt feels she’d be rolling her eyes at him if she was capable of it. He huffs, rubbing behind her neck. “I know, I know. That’s not the main reason why we keep him around,” he murmurs softly. “But that’s our secret,” he continues and Ciri makes a soft questioning sound, as if she’s understanding Geralt’s words and confused about them. He presses his forehead to hers and Ciri squeals in delight, capturing his face between her small hands, patting his cheeks.

Geralt hums once more, lowering himself on the ground, before placing the girl on the floor too. Ciri watches him for a beat before deciding to continue with her explorations, this time crawling away from the horses, going to inspect some flowers growing close by.

Geralt is still unsure how he feels about this whole paternity-business, but he thinks it’s not as bad as he once thought.

He’ll survive. Probably.

* * *

They finally arrive into town at dusk, the temperature already dropping. It turns out traveling with a baby does slow them down considerably and Geralt is trying to figure out what to do about that. He’d prefer if Ciri didn’t have to sleep outdoors more than what’s strictly necessary, knowing children’s health is a delicate thing, but even with him and Jaskier traveling by horse, they’ve been forced to stop much more often than they normally do.

“Quit sulking,” Jaskier instructs, sliding closer to him. “We arrived and that’s what matters.” 

Geralt hums, unhappy but knowing the other is right. There’s little use in worrying now; at least for tonight they’ll have a roof over their heads and with any luck, they’ll be able to get a decent meal too.

The town is a small settlement, barely deserving of being called a town at all. There’s a tavern next to the townsquare and the sign outside advertises they have rooms for rent too. It doesn’t look very promising, truth be told, but it’s the best they can do for tonight.

Geralt dismounts easily, even with Ciri’s extra weight strapped over his chest. The girl blinks awake, having fallen asleep during the ride and she starts fussing right away, prompting Jaskier to offer to take her. Geralt agrees, because despite his strength his back is killing him after nearly a full day of carrying the girl around and he wonders distantly just how Jaskier endured it the previous day.

He doesn’t give it much thought, though, guilt already curling inside his abdomen. He leaves Roach and Buttercup with the stablehand, who gives him a wary distrustful look and Geralt has to hold back a sigh. It seems it’s going to be one of those towns then: the kind of towns that won’t accept a Witcher in their midst.

Well, that’s fine, he supposes. He’ll just get Jaskier and Ciri a room for the night and he’ll find somewhere to make camp close by.

He enters the tavern followed by Jaskier, the path towards the bar so narrow the other man must stay behind him, mostly hidden by his bulk. He’s well aware of the patrons’ eyes following his every move from the moment he stepped through the door and Geralt forces his expression to remain perfectly neutral, despite the stab of hurt: he’ll never get used to humans’ casual hatred but it feels even worse when he’s been traveling with Jaskier for long. The bard has a way of making him forget that the rest of the world sees him like a monster and, from time to time, he’s also quite good at making people change their mind about him, given enough opportunity.

It won’t be the case in this town, Geralt can tell. The people here have been hardened by the conditions surrounding them and even if there was a monster that needed killing, they wouldn’t warm up to Geralt to ask for help.

He finally arrives at the bar, where the innkeeper watches him with a dark expression, arms crossed over his chest. He stinks of fear, as the rest of the tavern does, but he holds his ground when Geralt comes to stand in front of him. “A room,” Geralt says, bitterness colouring his tone. He understands why humans fear him, he really does, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate them a little for it.

“There are no rooms left,” the innkeeper replies, although it’s a blatant lie. He holds Geralt’s stare evenly, despite the spike of fear in his scent and the Witcher takes a deep breath, willing himself to keep his calm, hating that he’ll have to  _ beg. _ It’s unfair, truly, but he’s not unused to it. Still--

“My good sir,” Jaskier says, stepping from behind Geralt, holding Ciri in such a way that everyone who’s staring at them can take a look at her. “Please. My companions and I have been traveling all day and we’re in desperate need of a decent bed and a warm meal. If you could perhaps, check again?” he asks, tone soft and conversational, different from his usual defensive and frankly ready to pick up a fight tone he normally uses when he feels people are being unfair to Geralt.

The innkeeper frowns, watching the bard with a curious expression. Geralt doesn’t particularly like the way the people are staring, not at Jaskier and certainly not at Ciri and without thinking he pulls Jaskier closer, so he’ll be able to protect him a bit better if it comes down to it.

The innkeeper’s eyes narrow, focusing on Geralt’s hand, now holding Jaskier’s elbow. Ciri makes a sound, distressed by the room’s tension no doubt and she reaches for Geralt, stretching her arms towards him, making grabby motions once more.

Geralt would pick her up, but right now he needs to keep his hands unoccupied, in case he needs to reach for his swords.

Ciri squirms, now on the verge of crying, still gesturing for him to pick her up and the Witcher scowls, unhappy. Next thing he knows, Jaskier is passing the girl onto him, squeezing his arm reassuringly, ignoring Geralt’s panicked look.

“So, my good sir, about that room…?” Jaskier says, addressing the innkeeper once more and the man’s eyes snap at the bard, making Geralt tense once more and Jaskier squeezes his arm once more.

“You’re with him?” the innkeeper asks, still frowning and Jaskier smiles pleasantly.

“Why, yes, of course. I’m his bard,” he continues cheerfully, ignoring the murmurs around them, people whispering to one another all kinds of things. “So, the room?” he insists, either ignorant of the assumptions people are making or, much more likely, uncaring of them.

“A bard, huh?” the innkeeper says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, his eyes sliding to Geralt. The Witcher tries to look intimidating, but he supposes that’s a lost battle, considering Ciri is pulling at his hair, without as much as a glare from him. “Very well,” the man agrees finally. “A room and a meal, if you’ll sing for free.”

Jaskier sighs dramatically. “You drive a hard bargain, my good sir,” he says and Geralt rolls his eyes at him. “I accept, of course.”

The other patrons are still whispering among themselves and Geralt throws a glare in the general direction of the rest of the room but before he can do anything else, Jaskier is already pulling him in the direction of the stairs and Geralt sighs, resigned.

It’s not ideal, he thinks.

But it’ll do.

* * *

They unpack a few things, Jaskier washing his face in the small basin on the night table. Geralt surveys the room as usual, looking for anything suspicious, putting Ciri down once he’s satisfied. The girl decides to do some exploring of her own, crawling around the small room, inspecting every corner.

“I’m surprised,” Geralt says conversationally, taking a seat on the bed. It’s a double, so he’ll end up sleeping on the floor anyway, but at least he’ll have a roof over his head. “Normally you wouldn’t have hesitated on throwing hands with the innkeeper for refusing us a room.”

Jaskier sighs, still scrubbing his face clean. “You know I don’t like it,” the bard murmurs softly. “It’s not-- People are so stupid,” he hisses and then gasps, remembering there’s a child with them now. Ciri however, pays him no mind, busy attempting to climb Geralt’s leg. “But we did need a room and with Ciri… it was a safer route.”

Geralt hums, picking Ciri up and depositing her on the bed, next to him. The mattress is a bit lumpy, but it’ll do. “You didn’t need to,” he points out. “I could have made camp at the forest and you and Ciri--”

“Oh, stop that,” Jaskier snaps, turning to glare at him. “None of that, Geralt. I won’t stand for all your self sacrificing foolishness. We’re in this together, whatever that might mean.”

Geralt bites his lip, looking away. Jaskier’s words warm his insides but they also fill him with an odd sense of shame. He does not deserve the other man and it’d be better if--

Ciri stands on shaky legs, clinging to Geralt’s arm and jumps tentatively. The bed bounces just the slightest bit, but it seems to encourage her and so she tries again, still holding tightly onto Geralt, letting out a soft giggle as she does.

“A far cry from the soft beds you’re used to, my little princess,” Jaskier murmurs, having approached them and leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of Ciri’s curls. “But better than the floor, right?”

Guilt curls in Geralt’s gut and Jaskier rolls his eyes at him, sensing his thoughts no doubt. The bard squeezes his shoulder once before going to pick up his lute. “Well, I have to earn our keep. Do you want to stay here? I could ask for dinner to be sent.”

Geralt would prefer that, yes, but he suspects it’s not the wisest route. He shakes his head, picking Ciri up as he stands, the girl making a surprised noise. “We’ll go with you,” he says and Jaskier watches him for a couple of beats before nodding, the smallest of smiles on his lips.

Jaskier likes it when Geralt stays to hear him play. He’s never said as much, but Geralt can tell and although he’d loathe to admit it, making Jaskier happy also pleases him.

It’s not terribly wise, he’s well aware.

But it is what it is.

* * *

Dinner is decent, although not the best he’s ever had. Still, the stew is quite tasty and Ciri gets a few pieces of actual meat in hers, which Geralt guesses must be some kind of special treatment. Ciri eats with gusto, blabbing happily at the young maid that comes to pick up her plate afterwards when she asks if she liked it. Geralt doesn’t smile, but it’s a near thing.

Jaskier starts playing shortly after finishing his own dinner and Ciri watches him with rapt attention, clapping along some merry song. The air is still tense, people stealing glances at the Witcher sitting in the corner, but Ciri is oblivious to it, babbling in tune with the song Jaskier is singing and, eventually, people lose interest in them, turning their attention back to the bard.

For his part, Geralt watches Ciri, who’s now sitting on top of the table. She’s still watching Jaskier, but her attention drifts from time to time, exploring what’s left on the table with interest. She picks up the discarded spoon and entertains herself with banging it against the table, seemingly following the song’s rhythm. She then proceeds to crawl across the narrow surface, looking for something else to entertain herself and Geralt picks her up before she can fall. Ciri protests, unhappy at her exploration being interrupted, but she quickly gets a handle of Geralt’s medallion and plays with it for a little, before she starts chewing on it.

Geralt huffs, amused, and Ciri grins up to him, patting his shoulder distractedly.

Geralt is aware of a few people still stealing looks at them every now and then, but the tension in the room has eased and he dares to somewhat relax. He watches Jaskier perform from the corner of his eye, as he usually does, afraid he’ll give away too much if he stares directly at the other man. Jaskier is his usual lively self, reading the crowd well and thus earning himself quite a few coins. The innkeeper seems satisfied with his performance, if his self satisfied smiles are anything to go by.

Ciri yawns, grabbing a lock of Geralt’s hair and twisting it around her finger before starting to suck her thumb. Geralt winces a little at the pull, but quickly recovers and takes her hands in his, encouraging her to let go of his hair. Ciri yawns once more, rubbing her eyelids tiredly and Geralt figures it’s time for them to go. He catches Jaskier’s eye and barely tilts his head in the direction of the stairs, but the bard gets the message all the same, nodding once.

No one is paying attention to them as they make their way upstairs, too enthralled by the music and Geralt finds himself humming quietly along. He tells himself it is to lull Ciri further into sleep, but he knows that’s not completely true.

Still, the fact that he actually enjoys Jaskier’s performances is something no one needs to know.

Least of all Jaskier himself.

Geralt sits by the bed, watching Ciri sleep. He can hear Jaskier still playing downstairs, people singing along merrily now. Everytime the bard attempts to leave, he’s asked for more songs and while Geralt knows Jaskier likes the attention, he knows the other man must be getting tired.

Finally, he hears Jaskier’s steps threading the stairs and he finds himself breathing a bit easier. He hates to let the other man out of his sight, although he knows it’s ridiculous: Jaskier is a grown man and questionable decisions aside, he can handle himself. Still, it makes him anxious leaving his companion on his own, fearing he’ll run into trouble and Geralt won’t be there to get him out of it.

The door opens and Jaskier slides in. Geralt surveys his appearance discreetly: as usual, his cheeks are flushed with pleasure and pride at a satisfactory performance and while his clothes might look a little ruffled, he seems perfectly fine.

“Ah, Geralt,” Jaskier says, seemingly surprised by the fact that the Witcher is waiting for him. By now you’d think he’d be used to it, Geralt thinks, but he always seems surprised all the same. “How’s our little princess?”

_ Our,  _ Geralt thinks and hurries to squash the warm feeling the words provoke in him. Jaskier doesn’t mean it like that. “Asleep,” he deadpans and Jaskier rolls his eyes fondly, placing his lute back on its case before approaching the bed. Jaskier smiles, running his fingers through the girl’s hair and Ciri sighs contentedly.

Jaskier makes a quick work of his clothes, leaving only his shirt and small clothes on and Geralt stands up, allowing the other man to get into the bed. He goes to lie down on the floor, but Jaskier stops him with a hand on his elbow. “And just where do you think you’re going?” Jaskier asks, frowning a little. “Come on Geralt, this isn’t the first time we have shared a bed.”

Geralt makes a face. “We won’t fit,” he says and Jaskier huffs, rolling into the middle of the bed. Ciri protests softly but slides closer to the wall, making more space for them. “Jaskier--”

“None of that,” the bard says stubbornly, patting the small space that’s left on the bed. “Come on, I didn’t get us a room for you to sleep on the floor.”

Geralt would protest, but Jaskier’s expression tells him it’d be an useless endeavour. Carefully, he climbs into the bed too, unsure of what to do with himself next. There’s technically enough space for the three of them, but it’s a very tight fit.

Jaskier huffs, turning his back to him and grabbing Geralt’s arm, wrapping it around his middle. For his part, the bard does the same with Ciri, curling around her so they all technically fit a bit better but Geralt isn’t more comfortable now, if anything, he feels more on edge, all too aware of the way his body is fitted around his bedmate.

“Jaskier--”

“Good night, Geralt,” Jaskier interrupts and Geralt clenches his jaw. “Do try to relax. All that tension can’t be good for you.”

Geralt snorts, but doesn’t protest, willing himself to do as told. He can’t relax, not exactly, but he can pretend he does. He closes his eyes, taking slow measured breaths, attempting to keep his body relaxed.

It’s going to be a long night, he suspects.

But deep down, he doesn’t mind one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Next update will be up next friday, hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the new chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it!  
> Again, a million thanks to my lovely beta [goshdraws](https://goshdraws.tumblr.com/))  
> and my amazingly talented artist maximproving (you can find their art on tumblr [here](https://maximproving.tumblr.com/post/622647831504863232/of-babies-love-and-destiny-chapter-3aw-yeeeah))  
> or on twitter here)  
> don't forget to give them your love too!  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

Geralt wakes up at the break of dawn, as usual.

There’s a warm weight draped across his back, which has become a very common occurrence since they have Ciri with them. In the past, when they shared a bed, he and Jaskier had no trouble keeping themselves to their respective side of the bed, but that’s a little trickier with the little girl. For one, there’s less space to share and secondly - 

He looks over his shoulder, finding that, as he assumed, Ciri has taken over the bed, lying down horizontally, arms and legs spread like a starfish. In his attempt to escape Ciri’s kicks during the night, Jaskier has practically plastered himself against Geralt’s back and in his own attempt to escape Jaskier’s hold, Geralt is lying at the edge of the bed, in a space so tiny it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen down.

Well. Nothing for it now.

Slowly he removes himself from his companion’s hold, landing on the floor rather inelegantly with a soft thud. A quick look at the bed reveals both Ciri and Jaskier sleep on, the first turning around once more so she’s lying on her stomach, the second holding the pillow as he had been holding Geralt. The Witcher can’t help the small fond smile that comes unbidden to his lips and he goes to look through their stuff, figuring he might as well make good use of his time.

It’s been three months now since Ciri joined them and it’s been far less complicated than Geralt originally anticipated. They do have to stop more regularly at small towns, supplies running out faster and also because it’s probably better for the girl to sleep indoors. Of course sleeping indoors has a curious side effect on the young princess: while they’re on the road, she barely moves in her sleep, usually maintaining her position during the night but when they’re at an inn…

Well. There’s a lot more twisting and kicking involved.

Still, so far it’s been quite peaceful. Pleasant, even, although of course Geralt wouldn’t use that word to describe it. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he might even enjoy this new traveling arrangements.

It’s a pity it’s not meant to last, he thinks mournfully. Eventually Jaskier will leave, as he usually does: one day he’ll get tired of playing family and will wander away or, even worse, some lovely lady or handsome lord will catch his attention and he’ll leave Geralt again. The Witcher isn’t quite sure what he’ll do then: he’s not entirely sure he can look after Ciri on his own, although he supposes he’ll manage. Ciri will miss the bard though and the thought makes Geralt’s heart constrict; the last thing he wants is to cause the little princess any pain and yet--

But then, Jaskier did promise he’d stay this time around. Geralt isn’t quite sure he believes that, but it’s a nice notion and it helps him relax a little. It’s foolish to worry about things that have yet come to pass and, with any luck, Jaskier was being honest. Geralt does not fool himself into thinking the bard meant forever more, but he probably meant until Ciri was a little older and so with any luck he still has a few years before he needs to worry.

Yes, there’s no use on worrying just yet.

They still have time.

* * *

“This isn’t what we agreed on,” Geralt says, squeezing the bridge of his nose to fend off his incoming headache. It’s midday and the heat is making him dizzy, the lack of any proper breakfast probably doing him no favours. Jaskier did try to convince him to eat something before heading off to his hunt, but the alderman had insisted it was most urgent and had promised a handsome sum for his troubles, so Geralt had left and now--

Well, now it seems they’re trying to cheat him out of his rightful payment.

“You came back quickly,” the alderman says and Geralt doesn’t see what him being efficient has to do with his payment. If anything, the alderman should be pleased he got rid of their _pest_ problem so quickly.

“So?” Geralt growls menacingly, leaning over the counter. He’s not above a little intimidation if it guarantees he’ll get his full payment quickier.

The alderman pales a little, but stands his ground, puffing out his chest. He’s a big muscled man, but Geralt is a Witcher and so he’d stand no chance against him. Still, it seems the man is determined to not pay the full price and Geralt will need a different approach, although--

Before things can escalate though, a cheerful little voice cries _Papa_ before something (or rather _someone)_ collides against Geralt’s legs. He barely feels the impact of course, but he does look down to find Ciri clinging to his legs, grinning up at him. “Papa!” she exclaims again, raising her arms and making grabbing motions and Geralt huffs, amused, before leaning down to pick her up.

“Hello cub,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to hers and Ciri giggles, throwing her small arms around his neck. Geralt closes his eyes, allowing the warmth of the embrace to soothe his annoyance, willing himself to relax.

“Oh Geralt, you’re getting her all dirty!” Jaskier exclaims, having arrived now too. “You know how hard it is to get the blood out,” he continues with a mighty pout and Geralt rolls his eyes at him.

“You shouldn’t have let her run to me then,” he points out and Jaskier huffs.

“I didn’t! But you know how she is. I got distracted one second--”

“You should know better than to get distracted.”

“Well, yes, that’s fair, but in my defense-- Oh, no, Ciri, don’t! Leave papa’s hair alone!” he says, grabbing Ciri’s hands and pulling them away from Geralt’s hair, where she had been picking up small bits of monster’s guts. “That’s-- ugh--” he pulls out a handkerchief and attempts to clean up Ciri’s hands but of course he only smears her further. “It’s a lost cause, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Geralt agrees. Ciri squeals, not at all bothered by Jaskier’s despairing expression, not that concerned about her no doubt ruined clothes. 

Someone clears their throat next to them and that’s when Geralt remembers they’re not alone. He turns to face the alderman once more. He glares, but he suspects any hope he had of intimidating the man into paying him went out of the window the minute he was ambushed by a one-year-old.

“Your payment,” the alderman says, passing him a pouch that looks fuller than the original one. “As we agreed and a little extra for your swiftness.” To say Geralt is confused would be an understatement: just a few minutes ago, his swiftness was a bad thing somehow and now--

Still, he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He grunts, picking up the money and nods at the man before leaving, Jaskier trailing after him, chiding him once more about getting Ciri dirty. Geralt is only half listening and Ciri continues running her fingers through his hair, picking out monster’s gunk, but as long as she doesn’t try to eat it, Geralt figures there’s no real need to try to stop her.

This whole episode with the alderman was weird, he thinks, but he quickly figures it doesn’t matter that much. He got paid in full, which was the real important thing and now they can go look for a room for the night and he can have a very much needed bath, along with a decent meal.

Now that’s a nice thought.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you kept it short?” Jaskier asks, watching as Geralt tries to clean his hair in the nearby river. It’s a warm afternoon and so they decided on a quick stop, seeing the water’s temperature was pleasant and the stream wasn’t deep. Ciri sits at the stream’s bank, wearing one of her old dresses, splashing around and giggling delightedly. Jaskier is busy doing her hair, braiding small flowers into her blond locks.

Geralt shrugs. It would be easier, but _he doesn’t like it_. It’s a silly matter of vanity, but he does feel longer hair suits him better and keeping it long has the added benefit of encouraging Jaskier’s touch. Since Geralt often gets stuff tangled in his hair, it’s a good excuse to get Jaskier to wash it and brush it.

Jaskier huffs, amused, tying Ciri’s braid. “Come here,” he orders, picking Ciri up and depositing her on Geralt’s lap once he’s shuffled closer. Ciri starts babbling at him immediately, content with the new arrangement and Geralt can’t help the small smile that comes unbidden to his lips. He’s happy with the new arrangement too, seeing how Jaskier is busying himself with Geralt’s hair.

“Really, I don’t know how you managed without me,” Jaskier murmurs, brushing Geralt’s hair, not exactly gently, seeing there are a lot of knots. “Then again, I guess you’re not particularly picky about your appearance.”

“I managed well enough,” Geralt argues calmly. “It’s not my fault you have such high standards of personal hygiene.”

Jaskier scoffs once more. “No monster’s guts in your hair is not a _high standard,_ ” he protests softly, but he sounds fond. “I’ll braid it too, I think.”

“No flowers,” Geralt says and Jaskier chuckles.

“You’re no fun,” he informs him very seriously and Geralt hums, leaning into Jaskier’s touch, basking in the warmth of both the sun and the closeness of his companions. Ciri continues splashing, babbling to herself.

“She’s taking after you,” Geralt says after a while. “She’s talking all the time.”

“Well, good,” Jaskier argues calmly. “We wouldn’t want her to inherit _your_ social skills, would we?” he finishes Geralt’s hair, but he doesn’t pull away, instead he leans forward, resting his chin on Geralt’s shoulder, watching Ciri. Geralt does his best not to tense, enjoying the closeness but also terrified of it. His heart has picked up speed: not much, but seeing how slowly it normally beats, it’s still very noticeable. 

They stay like that for a long while, none of them speaking. It’s nice, despite Geralt’s racing heartbeat.

If only it could last forever.

* * *

Small towns in the middle of nowhere are rarely friendly towards Witchers, but Geralt has noticed an interesting shift in people’s attitude ever since he has Ciri with him. He thinks that’s why Jaskier usually hands him Ciri whenever they enter a new town: people are less inclined to flee in fear when they see him carrying a one-year-old.

Geralt isn’t entirely sure how he feels about this development. On one hand, it’s nice not to be feared, on the other the sudden shift makes him feel wrong footed and a tad nervous: like he’s constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knows how quickly people can turn on him and so when the town acts all friendly, it only makes him feel on edge.

So far nothing has happened though and so he’s slowly becoming used to the new treatment. Maids will smile at him in the taverns while handing Ciri her food, complimenting her, giving her extra sweets from time to time. Mothers will approach him too, followed by their children, cooing over Ciri and her adorableness. It’s _weird_ and not at all what he expected when he first got Ciri, but he supposes it could be worse.

Today Jaskier is performing, it’s a little earlier than he usually starts his sets, but the people had been asking him to play practically since they walked in and Jaskier basks in the attention. As usual Ciri claps along her favorite songs (which are almost all of them), moving her head to the rhythm.

It’s really quite adorable, if Geralt might say so himself.

For his part, the Witcher is drinking his ale slowly, savoring it. It’s actually a quite decent one, which is rather uncommon for towns as small as this one. It’s also part of the reason why they’ve prolonged their stay a little, seeing there’s no work for Geralt here. The people however have liked Jaskier’s songs and Geralt suspects they’ll end up staying at least another couple of nights: they certainly could use the money and the innkeeper is allowing them to stay for free as long as Jaskier performs.

Geralt looks around the tavern, assessing the crowd, looking out for trouble. He doubts there’ll be any, but one can never be sure and besides, it gives him something to do. He can not very well stare at Jaskier like a love sick puppy: he dreads to think of what would happen if Jaskier ever caught him at it. It’d be embarrassing and even if Jaskier let him down gently, Geralt doesn’t think he could ever get over it.

There are several people staring at the bard with heart eyes, though. Geralt is all too aware that Jaskier is attractive, so this isn’t uncommon and the fact has got the bard in trouble in the past, more than one jealous partner going after him. He half listens to the couple of maidens sitting at the table next to his, who are complementing both Jaskier’s singing and his looks, giggling among them.

“Such pity, though,” one of them says with an exaggerated sigh. “He’s already taken.”

“Indeed,” her friend agrees, also sighing dramatically. “The child is adorable, though.”

Geralt looks away, feeling oddly guilty. People have always sort of assumed they’re together: Jaskier’s tendency to touch Geralt all the time, often linking their arms together or putting an arm around his shoulders encourages gossip. Geralt doesn’t mind particularly since it often helps to keep Jaskier out of trouble too: people are less keen on picking up a fight with a Witcher’s lover. He imagines Ciri’s presence only cements the idea of them being together further: after all they’re raising a child together and there’s also the fact that--

“Mama!” Ciri exclaims cheerfully when Jaskier comes back to their table, extending her arms so he will pick her up. Jaskier laughs, picking her up and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Geralt isn’t entirely sure when that happened. Jaskier has been encouraging Ciri to call Geralt “papa” and the girl had picked it up quite quickly but where she picked up the “mama” bit isn’t that clear. Jaskier did refer to himself a couple of times as “mama”, but he had been mostly joking, not thinking Ciri would actually pick it up.

Except of course, it seems she has.

“Don’t you mind?” Geralt asks, as Jaskier takes a seat next to him, stealing Geralt’s ale. Jaskier hums questioningly and the Witcher sighs. “Ciri calling you _mama_.”

“Why would I?” Jaskier says with a careless shrug. 

“It gives people… _ideas,_ ” Geralt replies slowly, uncertain. “I heard the young maidens sitting next to us bemoaning the fact that you’re a family man.”

Jaskier chuckles, although his attention remains on Ciri, who’s playing with the laces of his shirt. “Well, I am a family man, Geralt.” He grins, rubbing Ciri’s nose with his, making the girl giggle. 

Geralt’s heart does a funny flutter. “Not like that,” he argues, ignoring the flash of foolish hope the careless words bring. “Don’t you-- I mean, it’s been a while since you… _saw_ someone.” He cringes a little at his own awkwardness and Jaskier turns to look at him, one eyebrow arched amusedly. “You know what I mean. Ever since we picked Ciri up… and that was five months ago. You usually don’t go that long without… meeting someone.”

Jaskier’s eyebrow somehow climbs higher. “You’ve been keeping track, huh?” he asks teasingly and Geralt doesn’t blush, _he doesn’t._ His cheeks do feel a little warm though and he steals his ale back, his throat feeling dry as the desert all of sudden. 

“Has it occurred you that maybe I don’t want that anymore?” Jaskier asks, tone soft and vulnerable. “I… Well, I’ve got older and wiser, I’d like to think, and now I want… I’m done with flings.” He shrugs, not looking at Geralt anymore. “I want something real and lasting, someone to grow old with, someone to have a family with.”

Geralt hums, afraid his voice will betray him if he tries to say something. He understands, of course and he’s always known Jaskier was going to leave him _permanently_ at some point, but hearing him saying it out loud--

Well. It hurts more than he cares to admit.

Ciri reaches out for him, no doubt sensing the shift in his mood and Geralt smiles at her, squeezing the small hand that’s reaching for him. Ciri makes a soft questioning sound and Geralt forces himself to snap out of his suddenly somber mood.

As he said, he always knew Jaskier was going to leave. And at least now he won’t be alone when that happens. 

He’ll be fine.

_They’ll be fine._

* * *

How Jaskier is going to meet someone while playing family with Geralt, the Witcher has no idea, but he’s not about to complain. He does enjoy having Jaskier with him and Ciri certainly likes him too. He’s _happy_ with this newfound domesticity they’ve builded, even if he’s well aware it’s not the idyllic life most people would imagine for themselves.

It’d be better, of course, if they weren’t _playing_ family but actually _were_ one, although Geralt will take whatever he can. It works and it’s much more than he ever imagined he’d have, so he won’t ask for more.

It’s fine, really.

Some things haven’t changed and Geralt does find some solace in that. While most of the changes have been for the better, routine can be quite reassuring too, even when said routine implies fighting monsters for living. The current hunt has gone relatively well, seeing he has managed to kill the beast and he suffered no real injury, although he thinks he might have miscalculated with his potions. It’s just that, judging by the villagers’ descriptions he had imagined it’d be a little harder to kill and he might have been a little overzealous with his preparations.

It’s no matter, of course. He’ll just have to wait a little for the potions to leave his sistem and then he’ll go back to his companions.

The beast’s burrow wasn’t terribly far away from the town, seeing the monster went to feed there, but it was still a whole day of travel away and Jaskier had insisted on coming along, citing that if Geralt got hurt, he’d benefit from the close proximity. It has happened in the past, of course: Geralt has got badly injured and only Jaskier’s proximity has kept him alive, so Geralt had agreed even if he hadn’t been happy about it, fearing for Ciri’s safety.

He had anticipated a harder fight though and he had imagined injury was likely to happen. Now he knows it’d have been better for his companions to wait for him at the village, but alas, there’s nothing to be done now. It’s late, so they’ll have to spend the night in the forest, but they’ll be fine really. Ciri certainly doesn’t mind sleeping outside and Jaskier seems to have got used to it too, despite his occasional complaints.

He slowly makes his way back to the camp, wanting to be close to Jaskier and Ciri just in case. He can hear Jaskier talking as usual as he prepares dinner and Ciri babbles along. She has yet to learn many words, which Geralt finds curious considering how much Jaskier talks to her, but they understand her well enough. She’s very expressive, even if not so much in words.

He sits against a tree just outside of their small camp, resting his head against the tree. The fight might have not been terribly hard to set up, but the potions leaving his system do make him tired and before he knows it, he’s half asleep.

He wakes up to the sound of footsteps approaching and he blinks several times, his eyes adjusting to the light. He can’t have slept that long, judging by the fact that the potions have yet to completely leave his body, his skin still too pale, his veins still dark, his eyes no doubt completely black still.

Ciri stands a little away from him, watching him curiously. Geralt knows how he looks, his heart constricting at the thought of Ciri being afraid of him, although she doesn’t look scared, not one bit. If anything, she seems mostly… curious? as if unsure of what to make of him.

She approaches him slowly, brow furrowed. No, not curious, _concerned._ She steps into Geralt’s personal space and places her small hands on each side of his face, frowning some more, tracing the dark veins with her small fingers, making a soft worried sound.

“I’m fine cub,” he assures her, leaning into the touch. “Just a little tired.”

Ciri hums, unbelieving and Geralt almost laughs at how similar to him she sounds. He kisses her palm, which seems to finally reassure her and she sits next to him, resting her head against his side.

Geralt smiles, looking down at her. He imagines Jaskier must have noticed him coming back, since he wouldn’t simply let Ciri wander away and seeing he hasn’t come looking for her, he must know she’s with Geralt. The Witcher closes his eyes once more, basking in Ciri’s warmth and closeness, enjoying the silence in peace.

Yes, he very much likes this newfound domesticity.

Even if it’s a little odd.

* * *

Geralt had known, in theory, that children grow up quickly. Ciri’s clothes stop fitting her every couple of months or so and considering they now mostly spend the night at some inn or another, money is a little tight. Even with all the work Geralt has managed to get and Jaskier getting paid rather well for his own services, they’re low on coin more often than not. The money Duny had given them is long gone and Geralt worries what they’ll do during the winter: he knows finding work during that time is much trickier.

Normally, he’d head towards Kaer Morhen to winter and he knows there’s no real reason not to do that this year. Vesemir will be surprised at Ciri’s presence, but he’ll welcome them with open arms and so will his fellow Witchers that happen to be around. They’ll be warm and safe and fed there, so really it’s the most logical solution, but--

He looks at Jaskier, who’s charming the innkeeper into giving them a room for the night in exchange of his services and he considers his options. Technically, he could take Jaskier with them, but he also knows he’ll have to endure endless teasing from his _brothers_ if he shows up with a child and a man in tow. The teasing itself wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if it didn’t threaten to expose Geralt’s fragile heart: he does love Jaskier and he rather wishes they could be a true family but alas…

Well. Some things are not meant to be.

“So, I got us a room,” Jaskier announces, grinning brightly. “Are you alright?” he asks a second later, picking on Geralt’s mood. The Witcher isn’t exactly easy to read, but Jaskier has learned to do it with an ease that’s more than a little concerning.

“Fine,” Geralt replies with a shrug. “Tired,” he adds, when Jaskier just continues staring.

Jaskier turns to Ciri, who’s entertaining herself with the laces of her new dress. She looks up after feeling Jaskier’s stare and offers him a bright grin. Jaskier huffs. “You wouldn’t happen to know what’s got into your papa now, would you cub?”

Ciri turns her attention to Geralt, surveying him carefully. She’s terribly bright for a child so young or so Geralt thinks. As he’s said several times before, he has no idea when it comes to children. Still, Ciri shows a great level of comprehension when she’s being told or asked something and while she still doesn’t speak much, she makes herself understood all the same.

This time around though, she doesn’t seem to have an answer or she doesn’t care to answer, since she turns her attention back to her laces after a couple of seconds of thinking. Jaskier snorts, amused and Geralt ruffles Ciri’s hair affectionately.

He looks at Jaskier once more, who’s smiling at him fondly. Geralt has made a point of not having high hopes for anything, but sometimes he does wonder if his affections are not as one-sided as he imagines. Once upon a time he would have scoffed at the sole notion: after all, who could love a Witcher? But he never thought he’d ever (sort of) adopt a child and yet, here they are.

So maybe not all hope is lost.

But better not to get his hopes up.

* * *

Geralt wakes up in the early morning, a warm body plastered against his back. He closes his eyes once more, allowing himself to bask in the warmth of his companion, feeling pleasantly sleepy still, not wanting to move just yet.

At first, waking up to Jaskier plastered against his back had been odd and slightly uncomfortable: it had been the middle of the summer after all and even the nights were hot. Geralt’s regular body temperature is high enough as it is and with Jaskier draped all over him, it became almost unbearable. But now that the mornings are colder, it’s actually quite pleasant and Geralt thinks he could really get used to waking up like this.

He looks over his shoulder, peering at his sleeping companions. Jaskier is deeply asleep, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. Ciri is lying on her belly, spread like a starfish, lying horizontally so her feet are digging into the small of Jaskier’s back. Geralt does not imagine Jaskier is terribly comfortable and he figures that him standing up is for the best, since it’ll give Jaskier some space to escape Ciri’s feet.

Before he can actually slip out of the bed though, Jaskier’s arm comes to wrap itself around his waist, pulling him close. Geralt stays very still, not wanting to wake the other man, but also unsure of what to do about this. It’s one thing to have Jaskier lying very close and another one entirely to have him actually _cuddling_ him.

“Stay,” Jaskier whispers against his ear, his voice rough with sleep. “It’s too early.”

Geralt wonders just how awake his companion is. “You’ll be more comfortable if I move,” Geralt points out, facing forward, not daring to look at Jaskier. “There’ll be more space.”

Jaskier grunts. “‘s fine,” he murmurs, pulling Geralt impossibly closer. “Stay,” he repeats.

Well. How could Geralt ever refuse such an order?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the new chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it!  
> Again, a million thanks to my lovely beta [goshdraws](https://goshdraws.tumblr.com/))  
> and my amazingly talented artist maximproving (you can find their art on tumblr [here](https://maximproving.tumblr.com/post/622919114562912256/of-babies-love-and-destiny-chapter-4-update))  
> or on twitter here)  
> don't forget to give them your love too!  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

“We need to talk,” Jaskier says one morning over breakfast and Geralt’s appetite disappears as if by magic. He grunts in lieu of an answer, continuing to eat despite everything tasting like ashes in his mouth now. 

Maybe he’s overreacting, but everyone knows that the words  _ we need to talk  _ usually precede the most uncomfortable kind of talk known to humankind. Geralt’s stomach is already tied in knots and he thinks he’s going to be sick, but he forces himself to keep his stance relaxed, not wanting to alert his companions of his uncomfortableness.

“Geralt,” Jaskier insists, reaching for Geralt’s left hand, which had been lying on the table. “It’s-- well. I think we need to make some decisions,” he continues and Geralt hums in acknowledgement, despite his escalating anxiety. None of this bodes well for the future and while he’s been telling himself their newfound peace couldn’t possibly last, he’s not ready to let go of the happiness he’s found in their new dynamics.

“What I meant--” Jaskier continues, looking at him earnestly. “I know we’ve never wintered together, mostly because you tend to disappear on me before we can discuss winter arrangements, but I’m rather hoping this year will be different.” Huh. This is not how Geralt was picturing this conversation going. “I usually spent the winters at Oxenfurt; I have rooms there and they’re always happy to have me at the university for some lectures, so… well… if you want, I thought we could head there, unless you had other plans?”

Yes, that’s definitely not what Geralt was expecting. He doesn’t answer right away and Jaskier’s expression falls, the younger man looking away. “We could, of course, do as we always do. I’ll head towards Oxenfurt and you-- well, you’ll do whatever you do during winter. I just thought-- with Ciri--”

“Oxenfurt is fine,” Geralt interrupts, realizing Jaskier has taken his surprised silence as a negative. The bard looks at him, uncertain, chewing on his lip softly and Geralt has to look away, finding the image a little too distracting.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier questions, although he looks quite relieved. Geralt nods stiffly, but he does find himself relaxing almost immediately. This conversation turned way better than he expected: it seems Jaskier isn’t leaving him, not even for a little while.

Which of course will only make it worse when he eventually  _ does  _ leave, but Geralt is doing his best not to think about it.

No, he’s definitely not thinking about that.

* * *

Geralt has been to Oxenfurt before.

Considering for how long he’s been traveling, this shouldn’t be surprising: there are very few places in the whole continent where he hasn’t gone. That’s not to say he’s  _ familiar  _ with the place, since in all his previous visits he was merely passing by: sure, he knows a couple of taverns and one of the inns, the local apothecary and the small city market. But Oxenfurt is a city full of scholars and since most people attending the university happen to be either small nobility or descendants of rich merchants, they’re a little stuck up for Geralt’s tastes, so of course he hadn’t lingered.

The lack of jobs hadn’t helped either.

Monsters don’t tend to get too close to cities like this, with so much movement all through the year. There’s always people traveling the roads to Oxenfurt, either coming or going and most of them either well armed or traveling with an escort, so a creature would need to be too desperate to come anywhere close to them. The city itself is loud and well guarded, which also discourages monsters of coming too close.

All in all, Geralt never expected to spend much time in Oxenfurt and yet, here they are.

Jaskier guides them through the maze-like streets. It’s a bit disorienting, or it would be for someone without Geralt’s training. Still, Geralt doesn’t like not knowing where he is going, he doesn’t like having to rely on others to find his way somewhere.

Jaskier does seem to know where he’s going, despite all the twists and turns. He chats all the way, of course, although Geralt isn’t really listening, too busy surveying their surroundings: monsters might not be a concern in Oxenfurt but thieves  _ are  _ and all these alleys are perfect ambush sites.

Most of the streets aren’t terribly narrow, but it’s still tricky to walk through them with two horses in tow, not to mention the one-year-and-half-old who insists on walking by herself (at least for now; she’ll tire eventually and ask to be picked up). Jaskier seems as oblivious to their surroundings as ever, recounting some high tale of his time as a student, but again Geralt isn’t paying him any mind, busy with much more pressing concerns.

“Are you deliberately taking us through the most complicated road?” Geralt asks after a bit, once they end up at another seemingly dead end. Jaskier blinks, looking around, frowning lightly.

“Huh,” the bard murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It seems I am,” he says with an unrepentant grin and Geralt glares. Ciri drops herself on the ground, mindless of the mud, seemingly having finally tired of all the walking around, yawning.

She walks quite a lot now and she almost never trips, but she still tires somewhat easily.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier exclaims, picking Ciri up, patting Geralt’s arm. “Old habits, you know. Since I was often sneaking around, attempting to escape angry paramours-- well. You know the drill.”

Geralt snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let’s try the normal way, huh? Since there are no angry paramours on our tail.”

Jaskier smiles, launching himself on a tale of his daring escapes and Geralt does his best not to roll his eyes, slowly making the horses turn. Roach is as unimpressed as ever, huffing when he rubs her muzzle in apology. Buttercup is much easier to content, rubbing his neck seems to do the trick, although to Geralt it’s quite clear they need to find a place for them soon or both will refuse to move.

He frowns, considering. Roach used to be such a good girl, never complaining even when he pressed her too much but now--

Buttercup is a bad influence, no doubt.

They get back to the main road and Jaskier starts leading once more, this time without taking any detours. They get a few curious glances, which isn’t that unusual, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to chat with Ciri pleasantly, nevermind the girl is falling asleep against his shoulder, yawning every now and then.

Geralt could do with a nap too, truth be told.

* * *

When they finally arrive to the housing Jaskier claims to have his rooms in, Geralt isn’t quite sure what to think. The place is big, almost mansion-like and just as fancy. Jaskier says it’s a teachers’ housing facility and since he technically has a teaching position at the university, he gets a special discount, but Geralt imagines it’s expensive all the same. And since Jaskeir doesn’t get any steady income--

“Why do you pay for this, anyway?” he asks, as they make their way towards the front door. They’ve left the horses with a stablehand who had looked a little in awe at Geralt’s presence and the Witcher had done his best to ignore the star struck look in the young man’s face.

Jaskier shrugs. “Well, I do need a place to winter, since you have yet to take me to meet your family,” he teases and Geralt’s stomach does a funny flip. That sounds-- is he implying--? “Oh, don’t worry, I understand,” Jaskier continues with a flippant wave of his hand. “We’re not there  _ yet _ ,” he continues, voice a little softer, looking down at Ciri who’s half napping in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder and Geralt tries to ignore the implications of the  _ yet  _ bit. “Also, it’s not like I pay for it,” he carries on after a beat, shrugging non committedly.

“I thought you just got a discount from the university?”

“Yes,” Jaskier agrees calmly. “But I don’t pay for the rooms; my parents do. They like to pretend I’m a respectable academic, you see, instead of a lowly traveling bard, so paying for the rooms help sell themselves the lie.” He shrugs once more, although he looks a little sad. “And well, it’s nice to have a place to come back when things go southwards, so I don’t complain _. _ ”

Geralt does not ask why he doesn’t simply go back home: based on the stiffness of his shoulders and his carefully flippant demeanor, Geralt can tell that’s not an option although the exact reasons elude him. It does not matter, he supposes.

Geralt hums, unsure of what he can say. He wants to be sympathetic, but the right words elude him as usual and so he settles for squeezing Jaskier’s shoulder in silent support. He’s not a terribly tactile person, but he makes an effort with Jaskier, knowing the bard enjoys it.

Jaskier offers him a brief smile, rearranging Ciri a little so he can reach for the doorknob. He knocks so softly that Geralt wonders if they’ll be heard, but it quickly becomes obvious he didn’t need to worry, for the door opens just a couple of seconds later.

“Master Pankratz,” a butler greets, vowing slightly. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Hello Thomas,” Jaskier greets cheerfully, his usual pleasant smile back in place. “I’m a little early, aren’t I?”

“By a couple of days,” the butler agrees. “But worry not, your rooms await you.” The man peers at Ciri, who has half woken up to examine her surroundings, although she keeps her cheek resting against Jaskier’s shoulder. “Would you need extra accomodations for your companions, Master Pankratz?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Jaskier hurries to say and Geralt keeps his face perfectly impassive despite the little flip his stomach makes. He had sort of assumed they’d be sharing accomodations, but he can’t deny he’s pleased to find out he was right. “This is Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier introduces him. “The white wolf.”

“I see,” Thomas replies, surveying Geralt critically. The look doesn’t feel judgemental though, not exactly. He’s being measured up, Geralt thinks, but not in the way he normally is. “He’s much like you’ve described him, Master Pankratz.”

Jaskier’s cheeks are red as a tomato for some reason and he laughs nervously, reaching for Geralt blindly and starting to pull him towards the house’s depths. “Yes, yes, well. Could you be as kind as have someone fix us a bath and a meal?”

“As you wish, Master Pankratz,” the man says and there’s an odd twinkle in his eye. He looks amused, Geralt thinks, but the reason behind the butler's amusement completely escapes him. He turns to Jaskier, looking for answers, but the bard says nothing, continuing to pull him in what he assumes is the direction of their room.

It can not be that important, Geralt decides.

Can it?

* * *

Jaskier’s rooms aren’t terribly big, but they’re functional. There’s a small desk by the window, with a few letters piled on top of it. Jaskier makes a face after seeing them and hurries to ignore them, depositing his lute case on top of the desk, effectively hiding the letters.

The bed is the room’s main feature, wide enough to fit five grown men. Geralt arches an eyebrow at this and Jaskier huffs amusedly, shaking his head before depositing Ciri atop of it. The girl sits still for a beat, before letting herself to fall down on her back, bouncing a little. Jaskier smiles at her, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of her head, before busying himself with unpacking his bags.

Ciri rolls onto her stomach, crawling towards the edge of the bed to get a better look at what Jaskier is doing. She babbles happily at him as he pulls out her clothes, straightening them out. She’s outgrowing them once more and soon she’ll need some more, but Geralt isn’t sure just how tight money will be during winter: Jaskier has somewhat implied they won’t have to worry for food and housing here, but other than that--

Geralt shakes his head, telling himself now is not the time to worry about that. He busies himself with taking off his armour, becoming more and more aware of the cold as he undresses. It’ll start snowing soon enough and he can only be glad that they made it to Oxenfurt before it did.

He should probably get a winter coat all the same, since he doubts they’ll be staying indoors at all times. Jaskier has said he’ll be teaching at the university and Geralt can hardly wait around in their rooms like a housewife, looking after Ciri. Well, he supposes he could, technically, but the idea seems-- weird, somehow.

Ciri will need a winter coat too, having outgrown the coat they got her what seems like ages ago. They probably need to get her a thick baby blanket too, if they’re taking her outside.

He frowns. That’ll cost plenty coin and--

“Here,” Jaskier says, draping a heavy winter coat over his shoulders. It’s nice, lined with soft black fur and way too big to have been Jaskier’s, but it only smells of soap and a little dust, so he decides against commenting. “We do need to get Ciri one,” Jaskier says, now ruffling through Geralt’s bags, taking out his clothes and hanging them on the closet on the far side of the room. “But stop worrying about money. We’ll be fine.”

Geralt hums. He worries a little too much about money nowadays; before he hadn’t minded if he ran into a bit of tight spot, since he had no one depending on him but now he has a child and a--

A what, exactly? What’s Jaskier to him?

_ A friend,  _ he thinks, although the word doesn’t seem to fit, not completely.  _ A partner,  _ and that seems to work a bit better, but it’s still not completely right. 

_ Does it matter?  _ he wonders, watching as the other man fusses over their clothes. Does he need a name for what they have? Isn’t it enough that it exists?

_ Yes,  _ he decides.

That’s enough.

* * *

Snow has been falling steadily for the last four days before Geralt decides to venture outside their cozy accommodations.

Jaskier started his winter course just a couple of days after their arrival, since apparently there’s a great demand for his services. Geralt does not particularly care for the academic life, so he and Ciri had stayed at the housing facility, only leaving their rooms for breakfast, lunch and the occasional stroll through the house’s garden. 

Ciri doesn’t seem terribly fazed by the snow and she insists on walking on her own, despite her bulky clothes making it more difficult. Still, she moves with a gracefulness well beyond her years, her steps light and measured so she doesn’t sink on the snow. She tries to step on Geralt’s footsteps, but the difference in their height makes that a bit troublesome, although after realizing it Geralt tries to take smaller steps.

He imagines they make an odd sight and they attract a lot of curious stares, although he does his best not to show his uncomfortableness. His presence always attracts attention and whether it's the positive or negative kind remains to be seen. 

Geralt itches to pick Ciri up and start walking faster, get them away from all the staring, but he can’t bring himself to do it, not when Ciri is clearly enjoying her little stroll. Children need activity, this much he knows and being holed up inside the housing facility the whole winter isn’t a real option but--

It’s hard. 

He tries glaring at people, which usually is enough to have them scurrying away, but he also knows that that technique is not terribly useful with Ciri present. The girl is entirely too adorable for her own good and no amount of glaring will make people look away. 

Geralt sighs, resigning himself to his fate. Ciri smiles up at him, bright and unbothered by the attention and Geralt's heart might melt a little. He takes her hand when she reaches out for him and Ciri beams, stepping closer, abandoning her game of stepping on his footsteps in favor of walking next to him. 

Geralt smiles at her, still keeping his steps short, listening to her babbling. She's learned more words by now, but she seems to favour baby talk most of the time anyway. 

They slowly make their way towards the university, all the attention they're receiving fading into the background of Geralt’s mind. 

* * *

There's a lot of people at the university's hall, way more than Geralt expected. Ciri makes a distressed sound, as people shove their way past her, unused to a child's presence and so not watching where they're going. 

He picks Ciri up after glaring at a group of rambocus teens, who don't even notice. He sits her atop his shoulders and Ciri grabs at his hair for balance, making Geralt flich. He suddenly feels sorry for Roach and Buttercup, who have had Ciri pull at their mane often enough. 

“Look for mama, alright?” he tells her, guiding her hands to wrap underneath his chin. It isn’t exactly comfortable, since the girl holds a little too tightly, unused as she is to be carried around like this. Geralt hears her quiet hum of agreement and Geralt pats her knee, restarting his walking.

He drags people’s attention, because of course he does, but it feels different from the attention of the people at town. There’s a lot of muttering around and the occasional giggle, but it doesn’t feel mocking or cruel, so Geralt does his best not to tense. Besides, with Ciri riding his shoulders, she’ll notice right away and the last thing he wants is to upset the girl.

“Excuse me,” a young woman says, stepping into his way and effectively making him stop. The woman smiles pleasantly at him, her eyes flicking towards Ciri very briefly before turning her attention back to Geralt. Behind her, there are another two women, who are watching their friend with wide eyes, surprised, but not frightened which is… unusual, although not completely unexpected. It seems people are much more willing to approach him when Ciri’s with him and Geralt still doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“Are you Geralt of Rivia?” she asks after a beat and Geralt grunts, but doesn’t actually answer. The woman grins. “You’re exactly as Master Pankratz described you. Very chatty.” Geralt glares and she laughs some more. “Unfairly handsome too,” she continues, making her companions giggle as she gives him a once over, although Geralt thinks it’s mostly for show. Still, he can’t help wondering if Jaskier actually said that or if the girl is just teasing.

The second option seems much more likely, but he can’t help the fluttering of his heart at the thought of the first one being the correct one.

None of this shows on his face, of course. “We’ve been wondering when you’d show up,” the woman says after a brief pause, since Geralt has yet to say anything at all. “The school has been alight with talk about Master Pankratz’s muse, you see. I don’t think anyone really expected the White Wolf to ever grace us with his presence, since you’ve been Master Pankratz’s muse for over ten years and yet… well. But then you finally show up and, even more surprising, you come along with a child.” Her eyes dart to Ciri once more, offering the princess a brief smile. “You can imagine the talk.”

Geralt can, even if he doesn’t particularly care to. He wonders if coming was the best idea after all, although he imagines people have known of his and Ciri’s presence ever since they came into Oxenfurt, so he figures it makes little difference. No, if anything, he should have headed for Kaer Morhen to winter and leave Jaskier to his own devices--

Then again, it’s not like it matters: gossip is just that and it hardly means a thing and Jaskier is not one to worry about people talking, but--

He’s spared of saying anything at all (although he has no idea what he’d have said) by Ciri’s cheerful cry. “Mama!” the child exclaims and almost falls off his shoulders, making Geralt’s heart come to an abrupt stop. Of course he manages to stop her from actually falling, his reflexes as quick as ever, but it does nothing to stop the mad beating of his heart.

“What do we have here? A little princess!” Jaskier says, picking Ciri up as the girl cheerfully babbles at him, reaching for his hat. Jaskier allows her to steal it and Ciri hurries to inspect the funny feathers, giggling to herself. “Well, at least someone appreciates my fashion sense.”

Geralt doesn’t think Ciri appreciates it as much as she finds it curious, but of course he only hums. Jaskier smiles at him, squeezing his arm in greeting and Geralt is all too aware of the people around them watching them like hawks. What are they expecting?

“Ah, I see you’ve had a run in with Ms. Lorein and company,” Jaskier says, turning his attention to the young woman Geralt was talking to (or rather, was being talked at). “What do you think, girls?”

The woman (Ms. Lorein) grins wolfishly. “He’s delightful, Master Pankratz. One can definitely see the appeal.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes dramatically, but there’s no denying the slight blush on his cheeks. “Well, as you well know, he’s taken,” Jaskier declares, taking Geralt’s arm and starting to guide him away. “Now scatter off, girls. You have other lessons to attend.”

The women giggle, whispering something among themselves before hurrying to obey. Geralt frowns, but continues following Jaskier, ignoring the  _ taken  _ bit. “Students of yours?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Not for this course. But-- well, of course they’d recognize you and everyone knows you’re… well… my…”

“Friend?” Geralt offers,unsure of how he feels about the term  _ muse.  _ It feels… overly romantic, somehow. Jaskier laughs, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Ah, so we’re finally calling it that,” he says and Geralt scowls, although it’s mostly for show. Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back and Geralt’s heart does a little flip. He scowls harder, because he doesn’t know what he ought to do. “Am I right to assume we’re having lunch?” Jaskier asks, smiling at him, all soft and  _ affectionate  _ and Geralt thinks, not for the first time, that their whole  _ relationship  _ is one hell of a big mistake and yet--

“Hmm,” he replies, making Jaskier laugh some more and he follows the bard towards what he assures him is the most lovely tavern in this side of the city, serving the best ale. Geralt wouldn’t admit it, but the truth is he doesn’t particularly care for the quality of the food or ale, not when Jaskier is there to keep him company.

It’s all kinds of ridiculous, he knows, not to mention  _ dangerous. _

And yet, he can’t help himself.

Normally, Geralt isn’t one to participate in festivals, prefering to avoid big congregations of people whenever possible. Jaskier however insists that Oxenfurt’s winter festival is not to be missed and he argues that Ciri could probably do with a little festivity. Geralt doubts the girl cares overly much one way or another, seeing she’s barely a year and a half, but he also knows that Jaskier  _ wants  _ to attend the festival, so of course he ends up agreeing.

There’s very little he wouldn’t do if Jaskier asked, something the bard hasn’t noticed so far or so it seems. If he has, he certainly hasn’t abused said power, rarely asking for  _ big  _ or  _ complicated  _ or  _ terribly unpleasant  _ gestures, knowing and respecting Geralt’s limits more often than not.

The festival at least is entertaining enough, even if the amount of people milling about puts Geralt on edge. Ciri sits on his shoulders, far away from the masses and so avoiding any injury and Geralt pulls Jaskier close to him so he won’t end up losing him in the crowd. There are several stands with food and several half-improvised stages scattered across the city, where there are music and plays being performed. Ciri has always enjoyed Jaskier music, but doesn’t seem a big fan of other performers (much to Jaskier’s delight), but she seems partial to the plays, especially if there are a lot of colourful costumes involved.

Geralt is aware of the stares they attract, but he’s got used to them in these last few weeks. People do seem terribly curious about him and he’s been approached more than once by brave souls, who make idle chit chat about his travels and his relationship with Jaskier. Geralt, true to his forms, sticks to mostly monosyllabic answers, along with hums and grunts, but he must admit some of those “conversations” have left his head reeling. There seems to be the widespread belief that Jaskier and him are something other than friends or so people have implied.

Normally, Geralt wouldn’t put any weight on such assumptions, since he knows how prone humans are to gossip and he’s well aware that Witchers generally don’t travel with human companions, so he understands  _ why  _ they’d think that, but the comments are normally accompanied with tales of something Jaskier has said or done and that--

Well, that gives him pause.

Of course it could just be exaggerations and Geralt is itching to ask Jaskier about half of those things, but he also knows that that’s a rabbit hole he’s not ready to go down. 

He watches Jaskier from the corner of his eye, thinking. They’ve spent a lot of time together in these last ten years of knowing each other, but usually there were pauses in between: times when they went their own way. The distance makes things easier, Geralt thinks, or at least allows him time to gather his thoughts and stop himself from getting his hopes up. The fact that Jaskier is his friend is wonder enough; to ask for something else--

That’s just inviting madness, truly.

But these last six months-- they’ve been simultaneously wonderful and terrifying. He’s happy to have Jaskier with him: regardless of what he might say, he’s always happy to have the bard with him. But all these feelings… all his foolish hopes and dreams are way much harder to ignore when Jaskier is right there being… well,  _ himself. _

And there’s also Ciri to consider. Jaskier is great with the girl; he clearly loves her and the feeling is unquestionably mutual. He’s made a great partner, acting like they’re really in this together (which Geralt supposes they kind of are) and all this playing family…

It’s very confusing. And a little heartbreaking.

There’s of course, nothing for it. They could part ways, he supposes, he could claim to have some urgent business somewhere and leave, but he’d need to take Ciri with him and he’d rather not travel with the young girl  _ in the middle of winter _ .

And come spring-- well, what excuse could he possibly give that won’t make it too obvious? He was the one who asked Jaskier to stay around to help him raise his Child of Surprise and if he suddenly changed his mind--

He obviously wouldn’t give any explanations, but he’s fairly certain Jaskier would know why. Or even worse, he might come up with his crazy conclusions and that might just be worse.

There’s a chance that Jaskier might meet someone and decide to stick to said someone’s side for a while, but that chance seems slim at best. Even if the rumours circulating around Oxenfurt aren’t true, it seems unlikely Jaskier will leave now in pursuit of some romance. Geralt doesn’t know how, but he knows it to be truth.

He sighs, looking upwards, staring at the night sky. Ciri giggles, leaning forward so their foreheads are touching and Geralt smiles at her, soft and fond. He didn’t imagine he’d actually come to enjoy having a child with him but--

Well. Here they are.

He straightens up and turns to look at Jaskier, who’s watching him with a soft fond expression of his own, making Geralt’s silly heart flutter. Jaskier gazes at him with such open affection, that Geralt can almost believe he’s not alone in his feelings, but--

He looks away, well aware he’ll end up doing something foolish if he doesn’t.

Ugh. Feelings are so inconvenient.

* * *

For once, Geralt is the one sleeping in the middle of the bed.

He’s not entirely sure how his companions came to convince him of this arrangement, but he does not like it. It’s somewhat logical, he knows, having conceded Jaskier’s point when he first came up with the idea: Geralt’s body temperature runs higher, which means he’s naturally warmer, a living human-ish furnace and it only makes sense for him to be in the middle, keeping the other two occupants of the bed warm.

But it also means Jaskier’s back is the one to the door, which means that should something happen at night, he’d be a much easier target and Geralt would have a harder time leaving the bed. It’s unlikely something will happen, Jaskier has said several times and yet he can’t shake off the feeling that he’s leaving his bard  _ unguarded _ which is  _ not acceptable  _ at all.

Ciri turns and, somehow, she ends up smacking Geralt with her feet. He groans softly, but of course the noise goes unnoticed by the girl, who has settled herself against his side, her head now lying where her feet should be.

Geralt makes a face. How does Jaskier handles this every night?

“It’d be funny, don’t you think?” Jaskier murmurs softly against Geralt's neck, making the Witcher shiver involuntarily. “If the one human that manages to make you bleed is a one-year-old?”

Geralt huffs and his companion chuckles goodnaturedly, curling closer to him, one arm wrapping itself across Geralt’s abdomen. The Witcher holds himself very still, unsure of what to make of this development. They’ve cuddled often enough, he supposes, but--

“I hate the cold,” Jaskier murmurs and suddenly his feet are pressed against Geralt’s and  _ bloody hell, they’re cold _ . Geralt grunts, but doesn’t pull away. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Because I’m your personal furnace?” Geralt asks softly, his voice sounding all funny to his own ears. It’s clear Jaskier is half asleep, but he’s way too close and it makes Geralt oddly nervous.

“Among other things,” Jaskier replies with a soft chuckle. “I don’t think anyone in Oxenfurt believed you were real.” Geralt frowns, confused. “Well, I mean, of course you’re real, but… you know… the us being companions bit. People might have thought I was making it up.”

Geralt hums once more, unsure of what he can possibly say. “You never invited me to come with you,” he says, although he thinks that’s unfair: he never asked Jaskier to join him at Kaer Morhen either. Besides--

“Would you have come?” Jaskier asks and Geralt hums instead of replying; they both know the answer. “I hoped you wouldn’t be mad when I proposed coming here; I hated the idea of sort of manipulating you into something you didn’t want to.” Jaskier continues softly, his breath ghosting over Geralt’s neck. “I’m glad you came.”

The closeness is almost too much and simultaneously not enough. Cautiously, unsure if he’s making the right call, Geralt wraps an arm around Jaskier’s form and the bard rearranges himself, so he’s half lying on Geralt’s chest. It’s-- nice, he supposes, even if his heart is beating like crazy. He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t feel like there are any appropriate words he could say.

This whole mess is very confusing.

But he can’t bring himself to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the new and last chapter, what a ride has this been! I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it ;)  
> Again, a million thanks to my lovely beta [goshdraws](https://goshdraws.tumblr.com/))  
> and my amazingly talented artist maximproving (you can find their art on tumblr [here](https://maximproving.tumblr.com/post/623190660300832768/of-babies-love-and-destiny-final-chapter-out))  
> or on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/MaxImproving/status/1281301994506981376?s=20))  
> don't forget to give them your love too! I absolutely adored their work all way through, and these last two illustrations are not the exception. I'm sure you'll agree when you see them ;)  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

The snow hasn’t completely melted when they leave Oxenfurt behind. It’s bitterly cold outside and Geralt is half tempted to remain at Jaskier’s cozy rooms for another week at least, but he refuses to give into the indulgence. If he had spent the winter at Kaer Morhen, Vesemir would be kicking them out already and he’s all too aware of the fact that his duty awaits.

He had feared Ciri’s reaction to this development, to be honest. He had feared that, having got used to a more comfortable (if a bit boring life), the girl would be unhappy about being on the road once more, but Ciri takes to the Path as a fish to water, seemingly happy to be moving once more, babbling a lot and insisting on walking on her own quite often.

“You seem surprised,” Jaskier says, when Geralt confesses his worries. “This is her destiny, Geralt. She was always meant to be on the road with you.”

Geralt scowls, unhappy. At Calanthe’s court, he claimed not to believe in destiny, mostly because thinking about  _ destiny  _ makes him feel a little dejected: if things are meant to be a certain way, then there’s no true freedom and every choice he’s ever made was not made by him at all, but by higher forces with bigger plans. It’s upsetting; it makes life a little meaningless in his opinion.

Still…

“This is no life for a child,” he murmurs softly. It’s no life for anyone, really. He’s made his peace with his lot in life of course: he is what he is and he was created for a certain purpose, so he’ll fulfill the duty he’s been given, but it’s not terribly pleasant, or nice and it’s  _ lonely _ . “It was foolish, to call the Law of Surprise.”

Jaskier huffs, amused. “A little, yes, considered you had just witnessed how  _ complicated _ it could make things,” he says with a small smile. “Do you regret it, though?”

_ No.  _ But-- “She deserves better.”

Jaskier hums. “That’s not what I asked,” he says after a brief pause. “Do you regret picking her up? All we’ve been through these last few months?”

_ Definitely not.  _ “It’s not fair,” he says instead.

Jaskier hums once more. “We’ll have to explain all this to her eventually, obviously, but-- I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I mean, look at her, does she look miserable?”

She doesn’t. Geralt doesn’t reply though, because he knows it’s a rather useless argument: what’s done is done and destiny or not, Ciri is his responsibility now and he’ll do whatever he can to make sure she’s as happy and as well looked after as possible.

“It’ll be fine,” Jaskier assures him, bumping shoulders with him goodnaturedly. “We’ll handle whatever destiny throws our way. And before you even think about it-- yes, we’re in this together. We might not be tied up by destiny, but if it’s up to me, I’m with you till the end of the road.”

Geralt’s heart flutters as he looks down at Jaskier’s affectionate expression. He ought to say something, he thinks, guard Jaskier off promising such things because he should be free, he ought not to tie himself to Geralt and yet--

_ He wants him to stay.  _ More than anything else in this world, he wants Jaskier by his side for as long as possible. 

So he says nothing at all, earning himself another luminous smile when he just hums in acknowledgement.

Who would be foolish enough to throw away such a gift?

* * *

Geralt’s grasp of the passing of time has always been a little… tenous, to say the least. He doesn’t age as humans do and if not for the passing of the seasons and the changes each brings, he wouldn’t notice the passage of time at all. Every day used to be a little bit like the day before, his life a constant routine that only ever varied when he was on a hunt. And even that had its own kind of routine: decipher what the monster was, figure out how to kill it or drive it away as needed, deal with the monster, collect his coin.

Simple. Easy. A tiny bit tedious, but it could have been worse.

Even when he met Jaskier, his routine hadn’t changed a great deal, just enough to accomodate the stubborn human. He changed his sleeping habits a bit and he did spend more time at human towns when the bard was with him, but he could still follow a semblance of a routine. Jaskier made life slightly less tedious and for the most part, Geralt would have said he was content.

Now however-- well. It’s impossible not to notice the passage of time, not when Ciri keeps getting bigger and bigger and learns to do more things on her own or with little help. He still has no idea if that’s normal for a child her age, but Ciri is fiercely independent, insisting now on walking almost at all times (except when she’s very tired), eating on her own (even if she’s a little messy) and has some loud opinions on what she’s willing to eat or not. 

“We should have asked about her actual birthday,” Jaskier says, watching as Ciri eats the many sweets they’ve got her for her (sort of) birthday. It’s been a year since they picked her up and Jaskier had insisted it needed to be celebrated, even if Geralt didn’t really see the point in it.

Ciri is very smart, but birthdays are probably something she doesn’t care for just yet.

Geralt hums, watching the girl decide which sweet treat to try next. He’s certain they’re going to regret it later tonight: too much sugar makes impossible for Ciri to fall asleep at a reasonable hour, but Jaskier had insisted a proper birthday celebration included sweets.

Geralt wouldn’t know, not having ever celebrated his own birthday (not even remembering when it might be) and when he had said as much, Jaskier had gone all sad, which might have also played a role on convincing Geralt of celebrating Ciri’s birthday.

_ A year,  _ he thinks. Objectively, he knows a year might not be a lot of time and yet so much has changed in a year.

Life is very different with Ciri around. He had known it would be when he went to pick her up, but he never quite imagined  _ how so.  _ And now, watching her smile and giggle, he can’t help thinking it’s for the better.

It’s not what he expected, that’s for sure.

But maybe that’s a good thing.

“Her grandmother would be so proud,” Jaskier comments one night, after Ciri tries to steal one of his daggers from his packs, much to the adults horror. She had seemed mostly curious about it, clearly not knowing it was dangerous, but it had nearly given them a heart attack all the same. “You probably are too,” he accuses teasingly and Geralt huffs.

He sort of is, if a little concerned. He didn’t get to handle a dagger himself until he was seven, after all.

“You’re too young for this, young miss,” Jaskier tells the princess very seriously, putting the dagger away. Ciri pouts, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed. Jaskier smiles at her, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead and when that doesn’t make her stop pouting, he tickles her.

Soon enough, their small camp is filled with the sound of laughter, as Ciri tries to escape Jaskier’s tickles. “Mama, stop!” she cries cheerfully, still laughing. “Papa help!” 

Geralt chuckles, watching them with a fond smile before he decides to rescue Ciri. The girl cries in delight when he picks her up, away from Jaskier’s grasp and it’s the bard’s turn to pout, although it’s mostly for show.

When he looks down at Jaskier, his expression full of warmth, Geralt feels like his heart is about to burst. He hides his own affectionate expression against Ciri’s curls, taking a deep breath and willing his face to go back to his usual neutral expression.

He’s not fooling anyone, he knows, but it’s the principle of the thing.

* * *

“So, I’ve been invited to a banquet.”

Geralt tries to keep his expression from souring, but he suspects he’s not very successful. He hums in acknowledgment, busying himself with getting Ciri ready for bed, trying to ignore the odd feeling of panic that has seized him. It’s not the first time Jaskier had left him in favour of one invitation or another, but it’s the first time it’s happened since Ciri is with them.

He should have known this would come to pass. He should have--

“Oh, don’t make that face,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes dramatically and plopping himself down on the bed next to Ciri. The girl laughs, assuming he’s playing and plops next to him, laughing some more when Jaskier turns to tickle her. “I meant to say we’ve all been invited.”

Ah. That’s… simultaneously worse and better. “I don’t like banquets.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jaskier murmurs, rolling his eyes once more. “But Cidaris is famous for their parties and I’ve been told their midsummer celebration is quite something,” he continues, smiling hopefully. “You know, lots of food and wine, good music and entertainment. It’ll be a lot of fun, I’ve been assured.”

Geralt huffs. “What about Ciri?”

“She’s invited too, of course. I’ve been assured there’ll be plenty of children around.” He shrugs non committedly. “She could do with some company her own age, even if for a little while.”

Geralt hums. He doesn’t like nobles’ parties and if they must celebrate midsummer, he’d be happier if they went to one of the many festivals smaller towns organize, where there’s food and wine in abundance too, but he also knows that this is important to Jaskier somehow. Playing at one court or another is a sign of status for bards, a recognition of their talents. If he’s been specially invited to participate--

“Fine,” he replies finally and Jaskier cheers. Next to him, Ciri cheers too, even if she doesn’t understand why. She giggles when Jaskier rubs their noses together affectionately and returns the gesture eagerly. 

“We must get you an appropriate outfit,” Jaskier says. “And one for our little princess, of course.”

“I hope that invitation comes with a heavy gold pouch,” Geralt murmurs sulkily, although he knows that won’t be a concern. Whenever he plays for nobles, Jaskier gets paid more than well.

Jaskier laughs. “Coin, coin, coin,” he fake-whispers to Ciri. “A gold-digger, you father is.”

Geralt throws a pillow at him.

* * *

Geralt isn’t sure how Jaskier convinced Ciri to put on the monstrosity of a dress she’s currently wearing, but he knows it’s very likely the dress will be in tatters by the end of the night and he’s not really looking forward to that. Jaskier will be ridiculously upset about the dress and Geralt will have to act like he understands the fuss.

He supposes it’s a pretty dress and Ciri looks like the princess she is in it, but it’s more fitted for a  _ doll  _ than a  _ child,  _ with all the lace and ribbons and whatnot. Ciri seems delighted right now, twirling, but he imagines she won’t like it so much when she realizes how much harder it is to play in it.

He does not say any of this to Jaskier, of course. When the bard asks if he likes it, he hums in response and Jaskier interprets it at will, as usual. Jaskier himself is wearing a completely new outfit in silver and blue, which suits him well even if it’s very showy.

In contrast, Geralt is wearing a plain gray shirt with his usual pants. He sticks out like a sore thumb among the many nobles surrounding them, all strutting around like peacocks in their best finery, but Geralt imagines he’d stick out even if he was wearing something more flashy.

The banquet is taking place in the castle’s main garden, much to Geralt’s surprise. It’s part of embracing the midsummer spirit, Jaskier tells him and it had started very early, also in the spirit of the festivity he’s told. They had arrived well into the afternoon; a consideration for Geralt’s general dislike of  _ people  _ and nobles especially. There are still a couple of hours before Jaskier is scheduled to perform and much to Geralt’s horror, the bard wants to  _ mingle _ while they wait.

He should know better than to keep accompanying Jaskier to banquets.

Still, he tries his best not to act like he’d rather be literally anywhere else than here, for Jaskier’s sake mostly and a little bit for Ciri’s. The girl is looking around the gardens with a wide eyed expression, taking everything in, smiling the whole time and when she spots other young children playing, she insists on going to meet them.

Geralt is secretly pleased by this, since it gives him a excuse to avoid meeting yet more nobles and playing  _ nice.  _ He’s not blind to the speculative glances people keep giving him and Jaskier and, as time goes by, he grows anstier. He’s never liked dragging attention, even if it’s near impossible given what he is and yet--

So he settles for standing close to Ciri, watching her play with the older children, watching Jaskier from the corner of his eye. The bard is surrounded by nobles, acting all charming and personable. Jaskier likes people in general, but Geralt knows nobles tire him too: still, they pay well for his services and it’s a good way to continue expanding his fame and the connections can be helpful too, both for Jaskier's and Geralt’s own job.

He does not like the looks the nobles have been giving Jaskier though, like predators getting ready to pounce. Before, they hadn’t been quite as obvious with the flirtations, Geralt’s mighty glare probably discouraging them, but now that he’s a little farther away…

It’s been a while since Geralt has had to watch Jaskier  _ flirt  _ with someone and even longer since he watched the bard actually walk away with someone if only for the night, but it’s still a hateful sight. He’s possessive by nature and that’s not a good thing, he’s well aware and besides it’s not like the has any claim on the man’s affections, but--

It’s more than that though: he’s aware Jaskier isn’t his to protect (not from this type of attention, anyway), but these nobles aren’t interested in Jaskier for himself, it’s just the thrill of it. They’ll have no trouble discarding him come morning and while that’s good for Geralt, because it means he’ll stay, it also makes Jaskier act all sad and dejected, even if he quickly shakes it off.

There’s nothing for him to do, he supposes. Jaskier is a grown man, perfectly capable of making his own decisions and if he wants to reciprocate anyone’s attention tonight, then it’s none of Geralt’s business.

Not at all.

* * *

Geralt stifles a yawn, wondering just how much longer will the party last. Since it’s supposed to be to celebrate the summer solstice, he’s not entirely sure why it’d continue to take place well into the night, but he supposes there’s nothing else to do but endure. Jaskier is still playing and Ciri doesn’t seem sleepy at all, so he has no real excuse to leave just yet.

He’s thankful Lady Brydana, their hostess, had offered them a room for the night since it means they won’t have to walk all the way towards the closest inn. They had taken a quick peek earlier and had found it quite suitable: while barely furnished, the bed had been quite big and comfortable looking and after a few weeks of sleeping in rundown towns, he’s very much looking forward to lying on a decent bed.

In order to do that though, he must endure the party a little longer.

It won’t be much longer now, he doesn’t think. It’s way past Ciri’s sleep time and she’ll start getting cranky soon, which will be his cue to leave. He’s not exactly keen on leaving Jaskier on his own, at the mercy of all those nobles, but if Jaskier is ever going to start sleeping around once more, he figures this works quite well. At least Geralt has his own room for the night and Ciri probably won’t notice his absence.

Geralt very sternly ignores the heavy feeling in his gut at the thought of Jaskier is someone else’s arms. It’s something that’s bound to happen sooner or later, even if this last year has lulled him into a false sense of security.

“He is very good,” a noble lady standing close to him is saying to her friend, both half watching the children playing, half watching Jaskier’s performance. “Very talented.”

“Not only with the lute, if you believe the rumors,” the other woman says, a mischievous glint in her eye and her companion huffs amusedly, taking a dainty sip from her drink.

“For all the good it’ll do anyone now,” the first one replies wistfully. “That damn witcher is a lucky bastard.”

Geralt frowns.  _ What? _ “Indeed,” her companion replies. “They’re clearly very committed to one another. It’s… disgustingly sweet, actually.” They both chuckle, nodding. “And the girl is adorable.”

“Oh, yes, very much so,” the first woman says. “One does wonder how that happened. If rumors are to be believed, neither have the right _ equipmen _ t to make it possible.”

Geralt very definitely doesn’t blush. He throws a dark glare in the women’s direction, but it’s very clear neither have noticed his presence, busy as they are gossiping. Geralt determines to stop listening, because that’s definitely the kind of talk that makes his foolish heart hold onto his foolish hopes and that simply  _ won’t do _ .

Luckily for him, just then Jaskier seems to finish his set, the crowd clapping and cheering at him. The bard smiles, bowing and Geralt looks at Ciri, to figure out if she’s ready to leave. She doesn’t seem to and that’s probably for the best, since Jaskier is quickly swept away by a small swarm of nobles and Geralt resigns himself to waiting for a little longer.

How he hates these parties.

* * *

Ciri starts nodding off some time later, although she makes a valiant effort to continue playing for a little longer. When it’s clear she’s just too tired, Geralt goes to pick her up, looking for Jaskier as he makes his way back towards the Castle. It’s quite late and since Jaskier is done for the night too, he might want to retire too.

He finds Jaskier being entertained by a small group of ladies who are all giggling prettily at whatever he’s saying and Geralt’s foolish heart drops to his stomach. Which is ridiculous, truly: Jaskier is his friend and as his friend--

He has no right to feel this jealous. Not at all. And yet--

“Oh, Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims when he sees him, straightening up right away, a bright smile on his face. “Heading back to the room?”

Geralt nods, twisting a little so he can see Ciri, now snoring softly against his shoulder. Jaskier’s expression softens and his companions start cooing at the little girl, clearly finding the sight adorable too. Geralt isn’t used to the world  _ adorable  _ being in any way related to him, but when he’s carrying Ciri it seems  _ he is _ .

“Well, you’ll have to excuse me ladies,” Jaskier says, addressing his adoring  _ fans.  _ “Duty calls,” he adds, bowing at them before following after Geralt, a slight spring in his feet. He seems content, Geralt thinks, not at all put off by being taken away from any potential romances and so he shouldn’t say anything, but--

“You don’t have to come with me,” he murmurs softly, keeping his voice low both to not upset Ciri and hoping to disguise his hurt.

Jaskier blinks. “Excuse me?”

Geralt sighs. “You could go back to your fans,” he says sulkily. “I don’t-- I mean, if you wanted to spend the night elsewhere…”

“Ah,” Jaskier replies, sounding…  _ off.  _ “No, I’m quite alright, thank you.”

Geralt scoffs. “It’s been a while since you… well, you know. And I know you said you wanted something  _ lasting,  _ but it’s been a while and you… well…”

Jaskier chuckles. “You’re oddly preoccupied with my love life, Geralt dear,” he says teasingly. “Do you have any personal interest?”

“You’re my friend,” the Witcher replies. “I want you to be happy.”

“Do you think I’m not?” Jaskier asks softly, stopping abruptly, placing a hand on Geralt’s elbow, effectively making him stop too. “Geralt, come on, you can’t be this oblivious.”

Geralt takes a deep breath. “I don’t-- this can not possibly be the life you want for yourself.”

Jaskier stays quiet for a beat, seemingly thinking long and hard about his answer. “You don’t know that.” He steps in front of Geralt, so they’re face to face. “I know I promised I’d stay around to help you look after Ciri, but you can not believe that’s the only reason I’m staying. I could have left at any point in the last ten years, Geralt and yet I didn’t because-- well, this might come as a surprise to you, but I actually enjoy your company.”

Geralt’s heart gives a little flutter. “Don’t-- don’t say stuff like that. You don’t mean--”

“But I do mean it,” Jaskier interrupts, stepping closer, well into Geralt’s personal space. “And I… well… please don’t freak out but I’ll be very happy if I got to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter what that might entail, little princess or not.”

Geralt’s tries and fails to squash the hopeful feeling growing in his chest. “Why?”

Jaskier huffs. “I think you know why. You just don’t believe it yet,” he adds with a soft smile, cupping his jaw gently. “It’s no matter. I have a lifetime to convince you of it.”

Geralt should say something. It’s hard though, considering his brain has stopped working and he can barely _ breath _ , let alone _ talk.  _ Is he…? Does that mean…?

Jaskier smiles, leaning forward to peck his lips very lightly. Geralt wants to pull him close and get a proper kiss, but he’s too aware of the child sleeping against his shoulder and he wouldn’t want to disturb her, even if he has come to sudden realization that all he’s ever wanted is finally within his grasp.

“Let’s put this young lady to bed,” Jaskier says, stepping away. “We can talk a bit more later.”

“Alright,” Geralt agrees, almost in a daze and Jaskier laughs, winking at him before resuming his walk towards their rooms.

They'll really need to talk this through, Geralt thinks, figure out where they stand with one another and what they want. 

But for now, he's happy like this, knowing his feelings, confusing as they are, might not be one sided after all and that the best is yet to come. 

_ Well,  _ Geralt thinks,  _ this isn’t how he envisioned the night going. _

But he’s not about to complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> It's been a joy to work on this fic and to be paired up with the amazing maximproving was the cherry on top. I absolutely adored our collaboration and I hope you guys did too!  
> Be sure to check out the other works in the collection; the organizers of the Mini Big Bang did a great job and none of this would have been possible without them.  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I hope you liked it! I'll be updating every third day more or less, so look up for the updates! ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought! ;)  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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